I Wish I Was a Turtle

My son Matthew loved the Ninja Turtles when he was a little guy ... loved, loved, loved them. He watched the cartoon religiously, had all the action figures and vehicles and swords and other paraphernalia, and dressed up like a Turtle for Halloween (or whenever he and his buddy Cory decided they wanted to transform themselves into Donatello and Raphael). I've never seen a kid so excited as Mattie was when the Ninja Turtles came to life on the big screen ... I don't think my little guy slept for a week before the movie was released.

For the last couple of weeks, Ollie and I have made a special stop by the creek each evening while we are out for a walk. We've made a special stop to watch a turtle ... a big turtle about the size of a basketball. No, really, it's one flipping huge turtle, and we aren't the only ones who stop to watch him each evening. All the other nights, Ollie and I just stood and watched the turtle for a few minutes and then moved on. But tonight, I had a lot on my mind and I still don't feel well, so I scooped Ollie into my arms and sat on the rocks that are perched just above the water. The minute I sat down and Ollie nestled himself onto my lap, I had one of those moments ... you know, a moment when a memory crashes so hard and fast into your mind that it takes your breath away. I rubbed Ollie's back as I realized that I was sitting on the very same rock I sat on when J.R. and I watched our friend Bucky the beaver in the creek. And tears filled my eyes as I said, "Oliver, buddy ... if it weren't for J.R., neither one of us would be sitting on this rock tonight." For those of you who don't know, the lady who contacted me about adopting Ollie found out about me from someone who forwarded her my blog post titled "To Everything a Season" ... the post when I shared that J.R. had passed away. When she first emailed me, she said, "I have a dog you need to meet." My little fat buddy J.R. ... I swear he was more than just a dog ... he rescued me through his life, and he rescued Ollie through his death.

Ollie and I didn't have to wait long for our turtle friend to show himself, and we both sat quietly as he glided along in the water beneath my dangling feet. He stopped almost right below my left foot, and I watched as his tail swept gently back and forth, causing the dirt on the bottom of the creek bed to swirl around him. "I wonder what turtles think about, Ollie," I whispered to my wiener dog who was sitting patiently (for a change) in my lap. "Do you think turtles think, Ollie?" Ollie's tail wagged each time I said his name, and he turned to lick my chin as I spoke. I'm not sure how long we sat on the rock watching the turtle, but after he finally moved on through the water until he was out of sight, we got up and turned toward home. With each step I took, I found myself chanting, "I wish I was a turtle ... I wish I was a turtle ... I wish I was a turtle."

No, really ... think about turtles for a minute. They never get in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything ... they just move along at their own pace, slow though it may be, until they reach their destination. No pressure, no worries, no stress ... they're turtles, for gosh sakes. Turtles generally live a really long time; in fact, some turtles live to be 200 years old. And the very best thing about being a turtle? They have shells ... shells they can hide away in anytime they want ... shells that protect them from danger ... shells that are their homes ... shells that are with them their entire lives. I did some reading about turtles when I got home from my walk this evening, and it's more than interesting to me that turtles generally not only survive injuries or wounds to their shells ... their shells become stronger, and they don't just survive, friends ... they thrive.

Yep, I wish I was a turtle indeed.