It's Time
Today is a day that I dread. The Schnoodle will be horrified and then run to hide under the bed. Not even a treat will get him to leave the relative safety of that space. The Boy will be locked in the computer room because he should not be a part of this madness. And my husband? Oh, he'll be leaving for work with a jaunty grin despite the fact that it's Monday. You see, it's that time again.
It is time to clean the turtle tank.
Sounds so innocent, right? Just place the Turtle on a large blanket, offer him fresh veggies for entertainment, empty the water, wash out the pump, wash off the rocks, and refill the tank. Place Turtle gently back into the newly cleaned tank and voila! All finished.
I think you know me and my life well enough to know nothing is ever that easy.
First, the Schnoodle is terrified of the Turtle. Any time I move the lid of the tank, he runs and ends up quivering under our bed. A couple of times, I think he may have stolen the flask of Jack Daniels that lives on the buffet. Just a tipple here and there -- I guess it's better than stealing my valium, right?
Second, the tank is a decent size. This is not a fast undertaking. Emptying the water requires trip after trip from the tank to the sink, carrying a dripping pitcher of turtle water. Towards the end, I have to balance the tank on one edge while trying to get the last dregs of turtle water and turtle effluvia into the pitcher. I generally end up covered in both and cursing a blue streak. So far, I've managed not to tip the tank over. So far...
Third, the Turtle. He's bigger than my husband's hand. He weighs close to two pounds and is convinced that he can eat your head. He is not a nice creature. Granted, I do love the Turtle. He even has his very own Christmas stocking. But, I am very conscious of the fact that, should he ever figure out a way to get out of the tank on his own, my life would be in danger. It's nothing personal, he's just full of rage. Green, turtle-y rage. Yeah, I know, he fits right in with me. That jokes been told more times than I care to count.Did I mention that I once caught the Turtle trying to chase down the Schnoodle? Yep, stepped out of the kitchen to check on the shelled guy and he was booking down the hallway towards the Schnoodle. It was slow booking, but determined. Very determined. I intervened before I got the chance to see the Turtle hanging off the Schnoodle's tail nub -- at least that's what I pictured happening in my head.
I'm sitting here, contemplating the Turtle and his tank. He's staring right back at me, almost as if he knows that today is the day. Soon, I will reach in and grant him that heady feeling of freedom. Soon, he can chase that tall, hairy beast.
Maybe I need to make another cup of coffee. It might be safest that way.
It is time to clean the turtle tank.
Sounds so innocent, right? Just place the Turtle on a large blanket, offer him fresh veggies for entertainment, empty the water, wash out the pump, wash off the rocks, and refill the tank. Place Turtle gently back into the newly cleaned tank and voila! All finished.
I think you know me and my life well enough to know nothing is ever that easy.
First, the Schnoodle is terrified of the Turtle. Any time I move the lid of the tank, he runs and ends up quivering under our bed. A couple of times, I think he may have stolen the flask of Jack Daniels that lives on the buffet. Just a tipple here and there -- I guess it's better than stealing my valium, right?
Second, the tank is a decent size. This is not a fast undertaking. Emptying the water requires trip after trip from the tank to the sink, carrying a dripping pitcher of turtle water. Towards the end, I have to balance the tank on one edge while trying to get the last dregs of turtle water and turtle effluvia into the pitcher. I generally end up covered in both and cursing a blue streak. So far, I've managed not to tip the tank over. So far...
Third, the Turtle. He's bigger than my husband's hand. He weighs close to two pounds and is convinced that he can eat your head. He is not a nice creature. Granted, I do love the Turtle. He even has his very own Christmas stocking. But, I am very conscious of the fact that, should he ever figure out a way to get out of the tank on his own, my life would be in danger. It's nothing personal, he's just full of rage. Green, turtle-y rage. Yeah, I know, he fits right in with me. That jokes been told more times than I care to count.Did I mention that I once caught the Turtle trying to chase down the Schnoodle? Yep, stepped out of the kitchen to check on the shelled guy and he was booking down the hallway towards the Schnoodle. It was slow booking, but determined. Very determined. I intervened before I got the chance to see the Turtle hanging off the Schnoodle's tail nub -- at least that's what I pictured happening in my head.
I'm sitting here, contemplating the Turtle and his tank. He's staring right back at me, almost as if he knows that today is the day. Soon, I will reach in and grant him that heady feeling of freedom. Soon, he can chase that tall, hairy beast.
Maybe I need to make another cup of coffee. It might be safest that way.
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