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| (Original unedited photo via Pintrest and www.thechive.com) |
Years ago I saw someone wearing a T-shirt that said “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. Then it’s hilarious.” How I laughed at that shirt at the time. But today, I write to you as someone who has been on the receiving end of the joke.
I suppose I should give you the backstory. We have a guest cottage on our property that we rent out to lovely guests in the holiday season and rent to absolute trolls in the Winter months (OK, OK, some are really cool and there are just a few trolls who have rented it.) Our favourite and most long-staying guests are from the UK – a retired couple that sound a little like they could be related to Jason Statham or at least have a minor role in a Guy Ritchie flick.
A few years ago, we noticed that three tortoises had made their home down at the little garden at our guest cottage. Well, we didn’t so much notice as the guests brought it to our attention. You see one of the tortoises was tormenting our guests every time they went outside to hang the washing up on the line. They claimed he would race up to them and ram into their feet. They feared for their toes lives.
I must confess, at the time I thought, well that’s a bit naff, innit? (To be fair, Brits don’t exactly enjoy the reputation of being the world’s most robust nation, now do they?) Although I didn’t take their word on the viciousness of “Terry” (the name they gave him, derived from “terrorist”), I thought it best to keep the peace and bring him up into our garden so he could stop harassing the guests. And there Terry has stayed, pottering around quite happily. Hibernating, waking up, getting fed, hibernating, and so on.
Now, I’m not entirely sure when the “shift” happened, but I can say that Terry slowly but surely became bolder and bolder. At first, we thought it was a fluke when we would arrive home and he would greet us at the gate. After a while we realised that he could probably feel the vibrations as we walked up the stairs and was deliberately coming to greet us. OK, I realise the word “greet” might be a stretch – he was probably hankering after food rather than affection. To confuse matters, sometimes he would stroll up to us casually and other times, he’d take a full-on run up and ram into our feet. Turns out our guests weren’t lying after all. But he did have me wondering what the hell he was after. Food? Water? Friendship? A new tuxedo?
Until this point, we’d been leaving food in the garden for Terry and he’d eat it at his leisure. Now, a kind of intimacy had developed between us and I found myself hand feeding him, no less. What can I say, over time Terry and I had become even closer. I picked him up when I come home and stroked his head and shell for a second or two. When I put him down, he came back for more.
So, last Friday it wasn’t unreasonable to assume he wanted to take the next step with me. After all, I‘d seen quite a few videos of people stroking and cuddling tortoises and the little buggers (or in some cases big buggers) seem to enjoy it. Don’t take my word for it, just google “Do tortoises like being cuddled” and you’ll see the videos for yourself.
Anyway, BK and I were on our way out to a drinks party and Terry seemed particularly needy. Running, ramming. You know the drill. I picked him up like I normally do, cuddled him and then brought him up to my cheek. You know, to nuzzle a little.
The little fucker bit me! Yup. Drew blood and everything. And because we were running late I had no time to clean it up and had to arrive at the function with tortoise bite marks on my jawline. I was a little concerned about getting an infection so cleaned it by dipping my finger in someone’s gin and tonic and wiping it down.
My family did little to allay my fears when I told them about it. My mom said “Little shit. Get a tet injection tomorrow. Never know what bacteria he’s carrying”. My brother (always the comedian) said “Yes, get cleaned up proper. Later we can get back to how he noshed you on the cheek. What was he standing on?” and then added (unhelpfully, I thought) “He’s a reptile.” My Sister-the-ICU-Sister not-so-calmly suggested that I “be very careful and clean the would very, very well” because “tortoises carry salmonella and other infections so watch out…” Righto. So no need for alarm then.
And while I did have a few dreams that I turned into a tortoise (you know, like after a vampire bite), I can happily report that the wound has healed, I don’t have salmonella and Terry and I are on good terms once again.
But I won’t be nuzzling him any time soon. Ungrateful little fucker.
