Wild Kingdom

There is no shortage of strange animals in this world, and I've come to the conclusion that most of them live on the east end of Long Island.  For instance, within the last couple of years I have seen, smelled, and/or barked at deer, giant chickens, bunnies, and goats.

But as strange as those animals are, they do not come close to the weird animal I encountered this past weekend.

It was Saturday morning and Ma and Pa left the house bright and early to attend a town meeting.  This meant that Sister and I were going to have to occupy ourselves for a couple of hours while they were gone.  Now, generally, whenever Sister and I are left alone, we take up our favorite joint hobby:  napping.  We're both really good at it.  I think it stems back to when I was a nasty little puppy and the only way Sister and I could get along for any extended amount of time was if we were both sleeping (fast forward five years and while we get along just fine now, we have both come to appreciate the importance of a good nap).  Anyway, by some weird twist of fate, both Sister and I were bright eyed and bushy tailed that morning (well, I was bushy tailed) and eager to go outside and enjoy the cool morning air (we planned to retreat into the central air conditioned comfort of the house the moment it got too warm).  Sister planned on reading a book while lounging in a lawn chair.  I, on the other paw, planned on preventing Sister from reading by any means necessary (some of my options included digging a hole, barking at figments of my imagination, and stealing Sister's bookmark).

As a special treat, Sister decided that we'd use the basement door to exit the house rather than the side door.  Now, I absolutely love using the side door because it means that I get to run down the flight of stairs linking the deck and backyard at top speed (and then run back up it afterward), but there is something about using the back door (which involves two steps up and directly into the yard) that is even more exciting.  I'm not sure why it's so exciting, but perhaps it's because from day one that exit was referred to as "Rigby's door" (gotta love anything with your name attached to it).

Anyway, Sister and I raced down into the basement and skidded toward the back door.  Lawn chair in hand, Sister threw open the door and three things happened simultaneously:

Turtle Knocking on the Door

1. I jumped over the two steps and dashed into the backyard.
2. A turtle tried scurrying into the house.
3. Sister almost screamed (but managed to close the door before the turtle could crawl in).

Curious as to what was going on, I quickly backtracked, but by the time I got to the door, Sister had already created a barrier between me and the turtle with her lawn chair.  She then jumped over the chair, ran toward the steps leading up to the side door (I chased after her), and into the house.  Half a minute later (though it seemed like much longer from where I stood on the outside of the door--and don't worry, I made sure to voice my displeasure for being left outside as loudly as I could), Sister emerged from the house carrying a cardboard box.  The two of us scurried down the steps and back toward the basement door.  Sister then jumped the barricade, knelt down, picked the turtle up, and deposited him into the cardboard box. 

The Release

I spent a fair part of the next hour hovering around the shady (and fenced in) area where Sister stashed the box and turtle.  Later, after Ma and Pa got the chance to admire the visiting turtle, Sister released him (he was now formally dubbed Mr. Turtle) into the front yard where he scuttled under a hostas plant.