I went to church in Georgia today. I saw lots of interesting things on the drive there and back. Kind of like Dr. Seuss’s kid on Mulberry Street. Only this was true.
I saw a cop directing traffic in front of the church parking lot. She told me, “Enjoy the rest of your day.” I saw a turtle (not a chicken) crossing the road. I saw a man with drum sticks cheerfully pounding away on his steering wheel. I saw a super-sized version of a go-cart driving down the road like it was a real car.
I saved the turtle.
Actually, I almost ran over him first. Swerved at the last second so my tires wouldn’t flatten his shell. The five cars behind me did the same. But sooner or later, someone wasn’t going to swerve. I remembered a scene from “Rango” and decided to do something about that.
So, I turned my car around, parked in the most convenient spot I could find, and trotted out onto the pavement. Relax. I looked both ways first.
The turtle ran away from me. Well, scuttled. Turtles don’t really run. But he definitely scuttled in the opposite direction.
I tried to remember if snapping turtles could actually cut through a finger, or if they just clamped on and never let go. I tried to remember that this particular Georgia road was quite curvy, and the speed limit was 55. I tried to remember that I’d left my car running in a stranger’s driveway.
Basically, I figured, I was risking my life for the sake of an ungrateful reptile.
I thanked God one last time for all ten of my fingers and picked up the turtle. “Stop hissing,” I commanded. “I’m trying to save your life.”
The turtle shrank inside his shell and refused to come out. But he stopped hissing. I deposited him in the front lawn of the stranger who had been nice enough to let me borrow his driveway. No flattened turtle shells. No flattened, misguided, “Save the Reptiles!” church-goers. No flattened fingers.
I just hope he doesn’t decide to cross the road again.
