Suburban Ninja Turtle Cops

Several years ago, a friend and I were on our way home from Syracuse to Cazenovia when we came upon an odd site: a girl was standing in the middle of a side road, talking on a cordless phone.

As far as I was concerned, there were only two possible reasons for the scenario: 1) Freddy, Jason or Michael was about to attack from an unknown direction and she was trying to maintain her visibility, or 2) she was trying to protect something in the road from being run over.

Since I was sort of busy watching the road in front of me, I hadn’t paid much attention to the pavement at the girl’s feet.
“I’ll bet it was a turtle,” I said authoritatively to my friend. “We’re going back.”

“Okay…”

What was she going to say? I was driving.

Sure enough, there this girl stood, terrified, guarding a reptile of unknown origin. She was afraid to get within six feet of it, but she was determined not to let it be a statistic in this town where everyone looks like they fell off an L. L. Bean truck as it drove across a postcard photo.

I wanted to hug her for being so smart on two fronts: First of all, many turtles’ populations are in trouble due to human “development” and traffic running through their habitat. Second, distance was very wise, as this beauty, about 14 inches across, was a snapper. Her mouth was big enough to have been of permanent consequence to any adult digits and probably entire hands of young children. I say ‘her’ for a number of reasons, the first of which is that the male of the species, like other species, need not leave the comforts of home for the purpose of procreation. It is almost always the ladyfolk you find in the roads.

As I explained all this to the young lady, the police arrived to save the day. A man came out of a nearby business to see how he could help.

“We need something for her to grab onto or a big box we can use to move her to the pond,” I said.

“Just stand back,” said Officer Friendly.

“You’re not going to try picking her up, are you? This is a snapping turtle.”

“I’ve got it under control,” he said, ignoring me.

Got it. This guy graduated from Girls Don’t Know Nuthin’ School. I graduated from You Have to Try and Protect People From Themselves.

“Listen,” I pleaded. “I’ve raised turtles since I was a toddler. This one can do some serious damage…”

Leather fingertipless driving gloves do little for a 6-foot-2-inch 250-pound man when a 25-pound ancient ball of rage whips around and chomps down on his unprotected wrist.

I watched in fascinated horror as Friendly danced in pain and fear in the middle of the street, trying not to scream (like a girl). Mama Snapper just held on for dear life like an involuntary carnival ride patron.

While my eyes were taking all of this in, the businessman-bystander ran and came back with a snow shovel, and my head was thinking, “I am not seeing this.” Friendly finally came to his senses and bent over, about crying, to encourage the savage beast to let go. When the ride came to a halt, the passenger stepped calmly away from the red-faced ride and onto the waiting snow shovel where she enjoyed a labor-free ride back to the pond.

I dragged my friend back to the car where we doubled over laughing. We got out of Postcard Land before we got a ticket for obnoxious enjoyment of “I told you so.”

Well, Life’s School of Hard Knocks may be a remedial college, but almost everyone walks out educated. It’s not like I wasn’t summa cum laude myself…but I haven’t lost any body parts over it yet. I’ve come close, but that’s another story.

Reprinted courtesy Eagle Newspapers, Syracuse, New York.