Animal Tale #6

A tragic love story 

I’ve always loved animals. As a child, I dreamed of being the proud owner of a dog. However, my mum had other ideas. She said I’d have to prove I was responsible first. So I became the (slightly less proud) owner of a turtle.

Since I have a sister, when we went to the pet shop, we didn’t just get one, but two turtles. We also bought them a small home: a plastic scenery that, to me, looked exactly like how I imagined a desert oasis. In the centre was a shallow pool of water, surrounded by tiny plastic palm trees. There were no walls to keep them from escaping, but the pet shop owner assured us that turtles are slow and chilled, not exactly the adventurous type. Apparently, containing them wouldn’t be an issue. Thanks, Mum, for the vote of confidence.

We brought them home, set up their little oasis, filled it with water, and I made them supper.

I was a proud owner of a turtle for about 9 months. I thought I was rocking it. I could already envision myself the year after as the proud owner of a dog.

Taking care of them was easy, and I genuinely enjoyed their company. I spent hours watching their slow movements. And even more slowly, I watched them grow fond of each other. I’d often find them sleeping one on top of the other. I never saw how they managed to get into that position. Did they climb into the water and slide out together? Did they somehow jump? Or was it just my sister playing a prank on me? Unfortunately, I’ll never know, partly because of what happened next.

One summer afternoon, like many before, we left the turtles outside on the balcony. For me, it felt like they were going on a little summer holiday. To make it more realistic for them, I’d even rearrange their plastic scenery slightly. The two of them seemed content. Happy, even.

I was convinced they were in love. And I was happy for them. They had each other. And soon, I thought, I’d have a dog.

But when I came home a few hours later, it all came crashing down. I went out to collect the two lovers from their holiday. One of them, my sister’s turtle, was lying belly up, completely still.

We didn’t know how it happened. It just did.

You could see, or better, feel, the distress of the other turtle. I cried. We cried together.

My mum gently picked up the tiny body, and later that day, we buried it in a field.

That night, I brought my turtle and her home into my bedroom. The days that followed were tough. But soon, too soon, I thought we’d made it through. So I left her on the balcony again. I thought it would be good for her to be on holiday again. I guess I was too young to understand.

When I came home that day, the scenery was empty.

She was gone.

I didn’t know if she went looking for him, or if she’d simply decided it wasn’t worth it anymore.

At least, I thought, they were both gone now. I was sure that they were together in some other oasis.

I, still didn’t get a dog. 

Maybe next year.

↩