Know your turtles!

As I wrote in the previous post, I stopped for that bird on the highway because (in the split-second glimpse I had as I drove past) I thought it might be a turtle.

I like turtles, and I have appointed myself as crossing guard for shelled reptiles when they decide to cross the road (to get to the other side, presumably). Anyway, the day I wrote the last blog entry with the bird's picture, I had to take my wife to out of town for a doctor's appointment. On our way back, what did I see? Right in the middle of the road?



Maybe he (who knows if it was a he or she?) liked the double yellow line (no passing either way). Maybe he got tired halfway across. But it wasn't the healthiest resting place in the world for a painted turtle.

So after I got my picture, I went into action, picked him up and carried him to the road shoulder, at the edge of the grass. I took another photo of him just before I left. He seems to be saying, "Hey, bud, thanks for the lift! Now let me sleep!"



The last time I stopped for a turtle was last fall, while we were driving to the nursing home, just after my mom was put there. Same situation. Painted turtle, in the middle of the road. But before I even reached for the camera, a pickup truck came from the other direction and got him.

Maybe a side hit. The turtle bounced into the air and came down on the road. It's shell was broken--had a large chip on the side broken off. I took the turtle the rest of the way across the road. Couldn't tell how badly hurt it was. But I swear: If I had a rocket launcher in my car that day, that pickup truck would have gotten one through the rear window.

Anyway, this turtle had a safe ride across the road on Tuesday.

Two days later, on Thursday, I was on my way home from the U.P. boys tennis finals. The same road as Tuesday. And I saw a large, dark green lump at the side of the road--just off the road, on the paved part of the shoulder. I turned around for a second look. And this is what I saw:



Yow! Is this some prehistoric beast from the mesozoic era? Look at the spikes down his tail, like a stegosaurus! Look at those frickin' claws!

This, my friends, is a snapping turtle. He's got an ornery name, to match his pugnacious disposition. He's big and mean and ugly. And he's a turtle, too. So what is this self-appointed turtle wrangler to do? Should I try to urge it into a safer position, somewhere in the weeds? Should I attempt to, umm, move it? Carry it?

Such things should be attempted very delicately if at all with something of this size and temperament. When he saw me getting closer, he turned around to face me. Maybe he snarled. I'm faster than the snapper, so I stepped around behind it. I thought 'Maybe, if I can grab the sides of the shell, just ahead of the hind legs and out of range of those front claws, I could ... '

Oh sure. I had no more than touched the snapper's back when it stuck its head way out and started turning as if to attack. That was more than enough excitement for me. Those jaws can (and do) bite off fingers. I want to keep all 10 of mine so I can keep on blogging and taking pictures.

I went back to get the camera, and the turtle turned to watch. From a safe distance (maybe five feet) I took this portrait of His Ugliness. I could almost hear him calling out, "You want a piece of me ... punk?"



No, thanks. I got back in my car and drove off. The moral of this story, I guess, is that even a devoted turtle lover has to draw the line somewhere.

Folks, let this be a lesson to all of you. Know your turtles! Know the friendly and benign ones. And also know the ones you better not touch with a 10-foot pole.