Sam’s Turtle

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He was a flop-eared, gangly, bright-coated dog, our Irish setter named Sam. He was a rescue dog who loved unconditionally and literally chased after life. He was my walking companion for several years. It was before leash laws in Cairo so Sam was free to investigate every scent along our three-mile morning walk, to swim the ponds, and stop for a talk with a turtle.

But one morning sniffing a turtle he discovered in our neighbor’s yard was not enough. He mouthed it, turned it over a time or two, then stood back watching for the turtle’s reaction, then nosed it again. When I called him to come along, he looked at me, then back at the turtle, obviously torn between eagerness and obedience.

Next thing I knew, Sam picked up the turtle in his mouth and ran on ahead of me. I laughed and tried to retrieve the turtle, but Sam would have none of it. He loped along our familiar route, his grin greatly deformed by his passenger.

He couldn’t swim the ponds that morning. He couldn’t sniff every little trail. He couldn’t bark at a squirrel or at the little friendly cocker spaniel we passed. I kept thinking he would put the turtle down somewhere along the way but, no, Sam had taken responsibility for this hard shelled friend and he would not give it up.

All the way around Oakdale Circle we went, past the Davids’ house and the street where the Hueys and the Hinsons lived, back to the little lake sparkling in morning sunshine. I thought that might be a good place for Sam to leave the turtle, there on the dam. Sam did not agree with me.

We arrived back on our street and I realized Sam must be taking his new friend home with him. But Sam was more thoughtful than that. His passenger was a friend, not a prisoner. He very deliberately, with fluffy red tail wagging, entered our neighbor’s yard and carefully deposited his passenger by the shrub where he’d found him. Looking back only once, he loped home ahead of me.

I watched the turtle a moment as he gradually became acclimated and scuttled under the camellia bush. What in the world would it be like to be a turtle minding your own simple business and suddenly to be picked up bodily by a great slobbery thing and hauled off to who knows where? And then, wonder of wonders, to find yourself sound and free in your own familiar surroundings?

That turtle definitely had one gripping story to tell his grandchildren! I hope he told them what a gentle giant Sam was. Even the worst scenario can turn out good in the end.