The Worst Pet-Owner Ever

I should probably mention that I lost Mr. Turtley on Monday evening. After a day of being cooped up in front of the computer monitor, I was itching to get outside at around 5 pm, so I gathered my kids and the turtle and headed for the long, narrow, weed-covered strip of dirt that we residents call The Backyard. I'm supposed to let the turtle get "exercise" at least once a week, but I actually do it every three months or so. Go on, judge me, SEE WHAT I CARE. You know you wouldn't be any better.

News of a turtle on the loose drew a bit of a crowd, including three more adults, a seven-year old, two four-year-olds, a five-year-old, and another 18-monther. I felt like a celebrity (note: I live in the Valley, not Beverly Hills; the definition of "superstar" is more generous is these here parts). Things were going well. Mr. Turtley was on the move, shaking his little booty up and down the yard like he just couldn't believe his good luck. The kids were all over him, I was chatting with the other tall people. I ran in to stick some chicken in the oven for dinner, asked the bigger kids to keep an eye on Sir Reptile, they said sure.

BIG MISTAKE. When I came back out, he was nowhere to be found. The kids shrugged, a few said they had to go and sauntered off. Damn little opportunists. Ankle-deep in weeds, I began a frantic search of the backyard, but the clever little guy was camoflauged perfectly and COMPLETELY GONE.

I started to get a little panicky. You all know how I feel about that turtle. But did I really want to become the kind of person who loses one? I mean, how pathetic a pet-owner must you be to misplace something that moves slower than that movie, "Shopgirl"? Also, what on earth would he eat, out in the wild? You and I both know that that little snob ain't gonna be nibbling on weeds.

Elan, like the little dog that he can be, sensed fear. "Mommy, I'm scared," he begain mentioning in five minute intervals. And I was all, oh please. It's fine. Mr. Turtley is gonna be fine. He's an animal, for G-d's sake! Everything is absolutely fine.

Things were SO NOT FINE.

Desperate, I offered Asher, the seven-year-old elder among the midgets, a dollar as prize money. His eyes flashed dollar signs, like a little stockbroker, it was kind of freaky. He was a man on a mission. We all kept searching, quietly, Elan reminding me every few minutes how nervous he was. Asher, wheels always turning, asks, "Who gets the dollar if you find the turtle?" Crap. So smart. "Um...I guess you will still get a buck for helping me look...but you'll get two if you're the one to find him." Asher looked at me with pure, and utter love. "I never knew such a nice mommy before. My mommy would NEVER give me two dollars!" Ah, to be seven again.

A few minutes later, he approaches me again, eyebrows raised. "You know, I'm just saying, I'm being REALLY nice that I'm out here helping you look when I could be inside doing homework." Now, I may be awfully generous, but I am nobody's fool. "I completely understand, honey. If you want to go inside and start your homework, it's really ok. I'll find him without your help, and you've been so nice." He gestured, like "DOH!" "Uh, it's okay...I don't mind...I'll help..." he muttered, and was off.

In the end, as it began to get dark and I was considering breathing into a paper bag to get a little more air, Asher's mom found Mr. Turtley, covered in leaves and sound asleep behind a tree, and I gave her the $2 to spend however she wanted. She kindly divided it among her two children, and I think everyone went home happy.

What a scare. I gave that thing such a lecture before I put him back in his tank: Did he know how afraid I was? Was he completely insane? He could have been anywhere! Anyone, anything could have gotten to him! Was he trying to torture me??!

I can't even imagine how people must feel when they misplace their kids.