I suppose that we all do bone headed things, but it seems like my numbers are adding up faster than our national debt.
While driving a country road early one evening, I saw a giant mud turtle right in the middle of the road. My first thought was, ‘What would Turtle Man do in a case like this?” Oh yes, he would bound out of his truck with his trusted Sidekick beside him and move the turtle out of harm’s way. But I’m not Turtle Man. I don’t have a trusted Sidekick beside me most of the time, and mud turtles sure make some great eating. (Keep in mind, there are no longer any lonely country back roads, as there is always traffic even if it is two in the morning.)
I pulled off the road, grabbed a limb that had blown off a tree, tired to get to the turtle — while dodging traffic — and finally got the mud turtle to bite the stick, just yards from the river. By then, half-dozen cars had stopped. Everyone was trying to figure what was going on, some shouting, “Are you okay?”
As I made my way slowly up the steep hill, I couldn’t help but notice that a crowd had gathered, but no one asked if they could lend a hand. I overheard one woman saying, “You need to let that poor thing go.” Another one said I needed a license, while another said it was a job for Turtle Man.
By the time I reached the top of the bank, I was burning up, bruised, and bleeding from my fall over the hill. As I started to throw the nice meal I envisioned into the back of my truck, an old man who looked to be about 90 walked up to me and said, “I’ll give you ten bucks for that turtle. We love to eat them.” I looked at him and said, “Here, you can have it, no charge.”
As the man walked away with the turtle still hanging on the limb I had put into his mouth, I heard him say, “Man, I know were I can get some good money for this thing.”
I guess I will never learn.