Coming out of my shell.

            “So, Sully, what should I blog about this week?”

            “Well, what is your Blog about, Mom?” Ouch. Damn this kid just can’t throw me a bone. 
            “Good question?” I make a childish face at him, he doesn’t bother to look up to see. 

            “You don’t even know? Fine. From what I have read, I think anything in your life is fair game.” 
            “Okay, then, Brilliant, what aspect of my stunning life should I blog about?” My life? Really? He knows that is too broad. And I know there are a lot of things he would prefer I not put in print. I may have him, here. 
            “I don’t know.” He looks up realizing it's in his best interest to indulge me, for half a second. “Your furry little friends…Shadow, Fuzzy.”

            He was multitasking. My son is the great multi-tasker of life! I asked this of him, while he was watching TV, “playing” Minecraft on PC, pondering his summer plans, actively avoiding a few chores, addressing incoming texts…wow, he is good. Was I ever that efficient? Yes. But it was oh so long ago. Now-a-days…I tend to hide out in my own shell.

            “Fuzzy isn’t one of my furry friends!” I realize out loud, while considering his recommendation.

            “Fine. But you love him anyway.” He smiles.

            True. I love my inherited Russian tortoise. And so does Sully. And so does Paul. Though Paul will go to his grave insisting that ‘the turtle’ is cute, but he does NOT love him. Whatever! No! Not whatever…sorry, you don’t get off that easy, my sweet husband. “So, why did you save the beet tops for him, Paul?”

            “He needs to eat.”

            “But romaine is fine. Why did you decide we needed to have rainbow chard this week?”

            “I like greens. They are healthy!”

            “Okay, but really, dude? You are cultivating dandelions in the back yard. The rest of the neighborhood, and ten generations before them, are battling them like a major pandemic!”

            He just shrugs. No answer.

 BEWARE: He's not your childhood 'tortoise and the hare!'

            Okay, fine. Paul does not love our turtle! And as long as no one puts weed killer on the lawn this summer we should all be fine. And that looks hopeful, since, as you can see, we have yet to tame the weeds! Fuzzy loves his dandelions…and the invasive morning glory that seems to complete the greening of our much neglected back yard.    

            So, while I will accept it, I still don’t understand how Paul can fail to love him. Who could resist his adorable personality? He is kind of a cool pet! And I will go on the record, proudly. I love Fuzzy.

            He is so low maintenance. In fact, if it weren’t for having to occasionally clean his habitat, he would truly be a perfect ‘Care Free’ companion! But is food and water every other day or so, really much of a task? I think not. Especially since the housecleaning really can wait until the smell bothers us…which is a long time considering we are all ‘all stuffed up’. Probably allergic to the dog…but Shadow deserves her own blog!

             Even providing for Fuzzy in our will, because he will probably outlive all three of us, really doesn’t seem like such a big task anymore. Particularly now, that there is an heir apparent. Yeah, all pressure of having the turtle to care for, is off! This has worried me, since the day we found out he might live well into a second century. 

A tortoise's dilemma. Eat or play the hokey pokey!

                                                       

          But how did we come to have a turtle and who in their right mind names a turtle Fuzzy? Well, the guy who did that…will have ample time to explain it to his newly minted son, and Fuzzy’s eventual caregiver, Brooklyn. Let this serve as notice. It is written in our will, and here on my blog, therefore, it is true.

*******

     
       I was greeted with a smile and a hug, as I dropped my son off to an acting class. “Did you see him…” Sully’s coach/mentor excitedly asked?” Marc was grinning ear to ear. This was not just his normal high energy, conjured up for dealing with ten or twelve pre-teen girls and my son. He looked like he had just solved world peace, or provided food for a third world country...for all eternity.

            “Yeah, he is sweet, once you get past the smell of some funky looking bodily fluids soaking the newspaper. What are you going to do with him?” I asked raising my brows in an attempt to appear maternal, and slightly pejorative.

            “Take him home and clean him up?” Marc answered as if nothing else made sense. He knew I was demanding a solid answer.

            “Sorry, dude. You live in an apartment. You have to take the train home. You are never home for long. How about if we take him, rehabilitate him (he had tar stuck on his back foot and seemed a little dazed), and you can come with us to set him loose, back into the wild?”

            “Really? Great! His name is Fuzzy.”

            That was just the way things were with Marc! Who was I to question? He was a breath of fresh air, all young and hopeful, full of passion and chomping at the bit to be a part of the next international revolution. He was irresistible.

             In a mid-forties kind of way, I had a crush on him. Not really on him…though he was v-e-e-r-y handsome, and smart and funny. Okay! Maybe I had a little crush. But it was just because his deodorant was a bit of an aphrodisiac. Seriously, who can resist an Old Spice man, or his youthful exuberance? I was just missing my own, one of each, man and youth. So, being around him…reminded me…of life. And he smelled really great. But maybe I already mentioned that…

            Honestly, how can you not love a guy who names a turtle…a cold blooded reptile, with a hard shell…Fuzzy?

            Fuzzy came home with us. We put him out back in a Tucker Plastic’s Storage Container. It was clear (Which we later found to be a mistake. We have since made all of the mistakes!). We gave him grass, and water and immediately rushed in to ‘Google’ Turtles…We didn’t know he was a Russian Tortoise, yet.

            He was. It was undeniable. As was the fact that he was a male. (Of course we looked under his shell! No, not at that…the male’s tail curls!) But nothing else was discernible. We had no way of knowing how old he was, or what pond he had come from.

             After three days of strawberries, romaine and dandelions we ascertained that he had not, indeed, come from any pond. Russian Tortoises as a breed, hail from the Afghan desert. This cute little specimen, however, clearly came directly from a pet store, and some poor kid was probably missing him right now.

            He responded with voracious turtle gaiety to his food. He almost said thank you with his expressive, beady little eyes. And he got cold and sluggish at night. It was fall.  

            Back to Google, we went. We found out that Russian Tortoises will go into hibernation if left in the cold. This was not necessarily a good thing since in our climate that cycle would come and go, with each erratic weather change. We considered the possibilities. Since this guy was born in captivity, the conventional wisdom expressed that he probably would die from confusion, freezing and thawing, so to speak…the other option, artificial hibernation. 
           That other choice...leave him outdoors in summer, and artificially ‘hibernate him’ in the Salad Crisper over the winter? Oh, no, no, no! Not for our sweet little pet. (Besides our fridge is always crowded. Especially in winter when Fuzzy’s diet comes from purchased greens, rather than yard clippings!)

            Decision made! We go with option three. We devised a system of seasonal habitats. A large, baby pool condo in summer and an under-bed box with UVA/UVB light in the winter. He would be alive 12 months of the year. It works.

Shadow "Do I really have to turtle sit again?"

            This keeps him safe and well, alive. Which always beats the alternative. We learned that these cute little dudes are major escape artists, and far from the myth of 'the tortoise vs. the hare', they are quicker than snot. While changing his water, one day early on in turtle husbandry, Sully left him to roam in the back yard. When it was time to go back in his container, literally five minutes later, he was no where to be found.

            Sully and I literally cried a few tears, Paul was, admittedly, a little bummed. We were growing fond of the little dude. He was cute, the way he popped in and out of his shell at the sound of our voices. He was becoming a part of our family. Shadow even liked him. She would follow him around the back yard, only occasionally putting a 90 lb paw on his back, to let him know he was edging close to danger. Shadow is a herding dog. If only we had known that before Fuzzy got away!

            But as luck would have, about 36 hours later, my distraught kid, went on a mission to ask the neighbors if anyone had seen him. They had. Just an hour before, our next door neighbor, had rescued him from death by SUV a few houses down. He was crossing the road, so they grabbed him and put him in a container. I am forced to wonder if he will need therapy for his multiple container issues.

            Sully brought him home. We were downright jubilant! We treated him to a hibiscus flower. Yes, our house was now his home. He was a pet, a beloved family member, not some nameless pond turtle. I shudder to think what might have happened to him had we released him into the wild. This is a turtle who enjoys condo living, fresh fruits and veggies, and a conversation a day.

            He was used to us, now. We broke the news to Marc. There would be no wildlife release party! 

                                                                             *******

Fuzzy, DOB: 4/10/98, DOD @2113?

            We asked a friend with reptile expertise to take a look at him. “He’s a healthy turtle. I can only tell you he is over five, but my best guess is that he is well into the double digits, probably about twenty something. Russian Tortoises have no inclination towards illness other than ‘the common cold’. So short of a predator killing him, you should plan on having him for a nice long time. As long as his eyes and nose are clear, he is healthy.”

            Well that was simple. We chose April 10^th as his birthday and decided he was 21 years old. We celebrated with some dampened store bought tortoise pellets. He pigged out. He loved the mush. And an hour after ‘the party’ I saw a tortoise vomit for the first time!

            “Oh Fuzzy buddy, I am so sorry. I guess barfing is better than outgrowing your shell.” I patted his back until his little body was through heaving. Poor little thing…all the moisture had been sucked from the pellets and it looked like he was hacking up dry mouthfuls of lucky charms.

            We decided, that assuming he lived through his 22^nd year, we would stick to fresh greens from now on. As I soothed our little birthday boy, my husband pointed out that he probably didn’t hear me, considering that he had no ears.

            I snippily replied “Oh contraire, Mon Ami, he has no external ears! He feels vibrations, which is about all I can say for you or Sully. I think he listens better than either of you.” I was insulted that my nurturing spirit was being questioned. And besides I had picked up a book at Pet Supplies Plus and was now an expert in all things Tortoise.         

*******

            “But really, Peg...Fuzzy?” People still always ask.

            Okay! You may already know this about me…when life fails to make sense, I start making it make sense. I make things up. My daycare kids, and everyone else we talk about our little 'fuzz nugget' with, ask about his name, which they feel does not fit.

            Sort of judgmental, especially for the three year old's, don’t you think? The name works well enough for me. Even though I still have no clue why Marc chose it. Regardless, gifted justifier that I am, I reply confidently. “…because he makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

            And he does. When I pat his shell and he bravely sticks his head out, despite the fact that I could be a cleaver wielding sociopath, I know we have a deeper connection. Fuzzy likes me. He recognizes my voice. He responds to my touch. He instantly awakens when one of us feeds him. 

           Truthfully, his burping and reverse gaseous emissions (we do not say that F word in this house!) are absolutely adorable. Have you ever heard a turtle pass gas?  

            Fuzzy entertains me. I don’t require much. And neither does he.

            And WE love him. (Just say yes, Paul). And as for me, he is just another reason I have to get out of bed in the morning. He depends on me to be fed, watered and exposed to UVA/UVB light. Nothing more, nothing less. So...on those days, and there are many, when I feel like burying my head in the sand, or holing up inside my own head...Fuzzy forces me to come out of my shell. 

*******Dear Anat and Marc, Congratulations on the arrival of Brooklyn, your beautiful little boy, the Fuzzy tortoise heir. Much love, Aunt Peg.