Saturday, November 14, 2009

Yurtle gets up and goes while I sat on my butt making excuses for not commuting by bike yesterday. I had what seemed like good reasons, but as coworkers asked why I didn't ride in, the reasons sounded like so much regurgitated tortoise chow coming out of my mouth. Driving my metal box home, I thought, all it takes for the tortoise to move is to stick him in a sunny spot in the yard. Before you know it, he's exploring, dragging his shell around, extending his neck, sniffing the clover, browsing, grazing, moving. The neighbor cat comes over for a sniff and a paw, and Yurtle pulls into his shell for a minute, until the cat becomes bored and wanders off. Sunshine and open space, perhaps hunger for fresh greens, compel him to move. Get up. Go ride.


  1. Love that turtle.. do you still have him? Yurtle is my name right now.

  2. Ali it's a sad story. Neighbor cat. Tortoise death in my backyard. Future plans for a stronger, cat-proof tortoise fortress next time.


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