“What should we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know either. I don’t want him hurt, but we cannot spend the whole day here.”
The man slung his camera over his shoulder. I guess he was done taking my picture for the moment.
“Look how cute he is. I guess its a he.”
“We never saw a tortoise tucked into his shell.”
“I know.”
These two people looked harmless enough. They were not wearing the camouflage colors of poachers, but I was on my way across the road to look for food and now they were blocking my way. I wanted to cross the road before it got too warm out, but it looked like that wasn’t going to be possible. So, I stayed tucked in my shell because I was not sure what was going to happen next and there were two gila monsters not too far behind me and eying me as food. The gilas were convinced that their scary black and orange coloring gave them an elite position in the desert pecking order. My stubby legs and tiny mouth didn’t exactly scare them.
The guy, kinda fat by human standards, tried to get down to ground level to take more pictures of my mug, so I tucked my head even further into my shell. Their constant waving and pointing at me made me feel like a zoo animal rather than the free animal that I am. It made me uncomfortable.
The woman pointed down the road behind me. Being a slow little creature, and fairly lazy, I did not even try to peak out of my shell to see what she was pointing at.
“A truck is coming this way,” she said. They conveniently saved me the work of trying to figure out what she was pointing at.
I saw the fat guy, in front of me, signaling to the driver of the truck to slow down and be careful. I got a little more nervous and pulled myself a little further into my shell.
A big beige pick-up truck pulled onto the opposite shoulder ahead of us. It was an older truck and had the dents and scratches to prove it. The man getting out of the truck was very different from the man and woman who had been with me for the last 20 minutes. The man and woman were in their 40s and the man getting out of the truck, was much older, in his 70s. The older man was dressed like a western cliche; he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and a button-down print shirt.
“Tortoise?”, he asked the couple as he walked over towards me.
“Yes.” said the fat guy.
“I was coming down Trona Road and there was one smashed all over the road. Nothing but shell fragments and crushed innards all over the road. Not very pleasant.”
I was shocked. I knew the tortoise the old man was talking about; though I had not seen him in years. We had grown up together at the Desert Tortoise Natural Area in California City. He was released into the wild near Trona Road and I was released here, near Argus. I remember that he a very distinctive head bob that was very successful at attracting the females and fathered several clutches of eggs during the years we knew each other.
“We saw this guy and had plenty of time to slow down. You are the first to come by after us.”
“He is a biggy,” the older man said, “even all tucked in.”
“I am afraid to pick him up and move him,” the fat guy said. “If he gets scared, he can urinate and dehydrate.”
I was impressed. This guy actually knew something about us tortoises.
“Well, we can’t just leave him here to get ran over. He is pretty packed into his shell. It doesn’t look like he is going anywhere.” I loved when the woman kneeled down to look at me, my view was right into her cleavage.
The old man was not helping the young couple make their decision whether to leave me alone. I just sat there, tucked in, and waiting.
“I don’t want this guy to get ran over, but we can’t spend the whole day watching him.” I could sense the fat guy was concerned for me. “I am going to move him onto the shoulder.”
The fat guy picked me up by the edges of my shell. He was being very careful not to hurt me. His touch was slight and I felt the blood running through his nervous fingertips. I felt pretty safe and took the ride through the air as he carried me over to and let me down into the sand, well inside the shoulder of the road. I un-tucked myself, just a little, as a sign of appreciation, but I don’t think the fat guy noticed.
“He looks ok. Ready to get going, hun?”
“I hope he will be ok.”
“He will be fine.”
Of course, they did not know about those gilas.
The couple walked back to their truck. They told the older guy to have a good day.
“I am going to stay and watch our friend for a while,” the older guy said. “You both be safe.”
So, it looked like I was in for a long day. I really needed to get across the road, but the older man was not going to let me try any time soon but at least he would protect me from the gilas. His heart was in the right place, but I had made the trip across the road plenty of times. But then again, I am sure Old Horace made his trip across Trona Road plenty of times…
