Everybody Calls Me Jana Banana: Please forgive me, little pet turtle

When I purchased you with your sibling a few years ago, I had all good intentions on being a good turtle mommy. You and your brother (or was it sister?) were adorable with your green and yellow markings and wee little shy faces.

I was working at Wesley UMC at the time and placed you both into your little oasis complete with a plastic palm tree on my desk to join my other office pets, two bright blue beta fish in vases with peace lilies, Albert Einstein and Albert Schweitzer. The children of Wesley thought you were adorable too and thought of all kinds of names for you, but you remained Turtle and The Other Turtle.

Oh, how adorable is a turtle!

My love of turtles and tortoises stated as a child when my big brothers chipped in to buy me one, which I named Ralph, which was what I named all my animals from snails in the garden to baby crabs found in tidal pools in the rocks at the beaches in Maine.

For years, I have saved turtles from crossing roads, and they always reward me with a healthy christening as thanks. I love Wilma, the African Spurred Tortoise that lives at the Joslin Center at Kalmia Gardens, and the yellow bellied sliders that swim in the pond. My favorite creatures at the Riverbanks Zoo in Columbia are the huge Galapagos turtles. The snapping turtle that lives in the Hartsville Country Club golf course pond always delights me when I catch a glimpse of him on a sunny morning.

Shortly after I adopted these two turtles, it became apparent that the office was just too chilly for little amphibians. To be honest, it probably wasn’t all that good to be handled and dropped by many eager little hands that just couldn’t resist picking up Banana’s Turtles. So off they went to Casa de Longfellow.

Unfortunately, my own little turtles got a little lost in the shuffle once they came home. First off, I couldn’t find a good spot for them. Sunny windows were too hot, and feeding them was often forgotten when they were in the computer room. So, the little plastic oasis with my two baby turtles came to live in the kitchen, and that’s where the cats discovered them.

Turtle water must taste like nectar from feline gods because I cannot keep my cats from jumping up to lap it up.
One morning, Turtle Number Two lay gasping, his neck outstretched as the glass pebbles beneath the turtles lay dry and bare. The cats had not only sipped, but they had drunk the water dry!

Try as I might to revive him, Turtle Number Two could not survive his time without moisture and ended up dying. That left vulnerable Turtle to fend for itself. I tried squirting the cats with water when they tried to jump up to the counter, but that only meant that they didn’t jump up when I was home or when the humans of the home were awake.

Night after night, the cats found a way to have their sips of turtle water, so my children and I have been careful to keep an eye on the level of water to keep it at bay.

Sadly, my bad turtle mommy woes didn’t stop at nearly dehydrating my adorable little pets. It is far, far worse.
When Turtle Number Two passed away, I thought it best to scrub out the oasis extra well and replace the glass pebbles with something maybe more festive and easier to walk on. I purchased a bag of hot pink little rocks, rinsed them in hot water and placed a layer of them on the bottom of the fake plastic beach. It took a few days, but slowly the shell of Turtle started to have a different hue. Slowly but surely, his (or is it her?) shell became to turn pink. I rinsed and rinsed the rocks again but to no avail. The shell of Turtle is now permanently tinged pink.

Not only did I kill off Turtle Number Two, I have turned poor Turtle into a 1980s version of the amphibian family.

So, sweet pet turtle, I beg your forgiveness. And let this be a warning to all of my friends that when I say I really want some pet frogs, don’t let me have them.