two short months . . .

Yesterday as Joanie and I were headed for the home stretch of our morning walk, dripping in sweat and literally, quite soggy, Joanie spied a Florida Soft Shell turtle about 500 feet from his pond, apparently stuck in a sandy stretch of what we Floridians call lawn.  We looked for a while and decided he needed help back to his watery nest.  I was elected.  Now, this was no small turtle but I grabbed him with one hand on each side and lifted him up and out in front of me and headed pondward.  He was very docile and appreciative until he could see his puddle whence we parted company in one giant leap.

Joanie and I mused as to why he wandered so far from home and why he was headed toward the highway but nature being nature, our brains went on to other things.

This morning, as we walked out of the neighborhood and down the street, we could see a convention of turkey buzzards in front of the nursing home that houses the pond.  I think Joanie and I gasped at the same time.  No, it could not be our turtle, so lovingly saved the morning before but as we walked closer, it became quite obvious that it was indeed our wayward reptile.  His gyroscope must have taken a hit somewhere along the way and modern machinery took its toll.  Sigh.

But as I looked down at our lost friend, I started to cry.  I cried because we tried to help him and he still died.  I cried because the doctors tried to help the 9TS and he still died.  I cried because I'm not sure I still believe in God and that is a lot to lose in two short months.