Today I read a story about a Brazilian family that found their missing tortoise, Manuela, after thirty years. Decades prior, they thought the turtle had run away when the front door was inadvertently left open. If that was the case, then after thirty years of flat-out sprinting, the turtle would be a block and a half away from the front porch. The family claims that the tortoise lived all these years in a box in their storage room, eating termites.
I find this story far-fetched for two reasons. First of all, don’t turtles need water? Second, didn’t anyone smell thirty years of turtle poop. I mean, if an animal is trapped IN YOUR HOUSE for thirty fricken’ years, it has got to stink.
If Manuela, the recluse tortoise, was indeed living for thirty years in a cardboard box, she should be given three things immediately:
1. A bath, with luxurious bubbles, verbena-scented soap, and perhaps a something pretty like a stack of bangle-bracelets or a bedazzler for her shell.
2. A long drink of water, preferably something filtered and imported from a clear-mountain spring. Come on, she deserves that!
3. A super-handsome man-turtle, twenty years her junior, who is willing to share a nice warm rock and a head of lettuce.