A few days ago, while looking for night crawlers, my middle child stumbled upon a middle-aged box turtle. And of course, he wanted to keep it. Being the good mom that I am, I said, “No.”
He whined and begged and pleaded.
I responded, “Absolutely not.”
Don’t get the wrong idea. I love turtles. I truly do. I think they are wonderful creatures.
You see, my middle child already has 3 very small red-eared sliders in a bucket in his room. The line had to be drawn somewhere.
Plus, on the numerous occasions that I have tried to cage a wild turtle and cater to its needs, I have failed. Mainly in the food department. And for fear of starving them to death, I let them go.
So my 6-year-old reluctantly let the passing turtle go on its way.
This morning, when I was on my morning jog, I saw the same little box turtle making his way down the drive toward the house.
Being the good mom that I am, I told my middle child that his turtle had come for breakfast.
The turtle graciously gobbled it right up.
Hence the cherry.
Then he was gone. Leaving us nothing but a pool of cherry juice and a pit.