NuclearNed
Raconteur
This past Friday the wife and I were walking our dog on the wooded trail where it seems like everything that ever happens to me happens. It was a dark afternoon, and the sky was threatening to break open with even more rain. Everything was wet and humid, and we appeared to be the only people on the path. Since I walk the path daily, I know the layout pretty well. For this reason, as we walked on, I soon noticed a large rock in an area where there hasn't been a large rock before. And yet, even from a distance, I knew that this wasn't a rock - it was something alive, and I had a good guess as to what it was. As we got closer, we confirmed my guess: it was a large snapping turtle that had crawled up from the nearby stream to an area beside the path.
Some people will think that I'm crazy, but my first thought was that I needed to move this turtle back to the stream. As I've posted before, here in eastern Tennessee the rednecks think its great fun to kill things for no particularly good reason. I'm constantly moving snakes and turtles from the trail to remote areas for this very reason. At the same time, I'm mentally reviewing everything I know about these turtles: they are extremely aggressive, are really strong, can bite off huge chunks of people, and have really long necks (just exactly how long, I wasn't real sure, which bothered me a lot).
So I took a step towards the turtle. When approached by people, most turtles will tuck and cover. Apparently snappers subscribe to a different school of thought. He immediately spun around to face me, and started striking and snapping at me, much like a snake with one of those spiky steel animal traps for a mouth. My confidence receded several notches, and I began to wonder if this thing was really worth saving. I quickly moved around to his rear again, and put my hand on the back end of his shell to hold him still. At this point, I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to simultaneously pick up the turtle with one hand, and protectively cup my genitals with my other. The turtle was literally vibrating with rage, snapping at every little piece of me that he thought he could reach. He was strong enough that I was struggling to keep him pinned to the ground so that he couldn't spin around on me.
Finally I chose to pick the thing up just slightly back from the midpoint of his shell. I was in fervent prayer that this thing's neck was too short to reach me. Damn, that thing was heavy, and damn, his flailing claws looked long and sharp. Oddly enough, when I lifted him, he calmed down a lot. He just kept looking at me, hissing with his enormous mouth wide open. I waddled over to the nearest part of the creak, laid him in the water, and quickly stepped several feet away. I was shaking from equal parts of fear and adrenaline. Chalk up another mark on my "animals saved" chart.
CLIFFS: Dinosaurs still thrive in Tennessee, and for some reason I decided to grab one.
Some people will think that I'm crazy, but my first thought was that I needed to move this turtle back to the stream. As I've posted before, here in eastern Tennessee the rednecks think its great fun to kill things for no particularly good reason. I'm constantly moving snakes and turtles from the trail to remote areas for this very reason. At the same time, I'm mentally reviewing everything I know about these turtles: they are extremely aggressive, are really strong, can bite off huge chunks of people, and have really long necks (just exactly how long, I wasn't real sure, which bothered me a lot).
So I took a step towards the turtle. When approached by people, most turtles will tuck and cover. Apparently snappers subscribe to a different school of thought. He immediately spun around to face me, and started striking and snapping at me, much like a snake with one of those spiky steel animal traps for a mouth. My confidence receded several notches, and I began to wonder if this thing was really worth saving. I quickly moved around to his rear again, and put my hand on the back end of his shell to hold him still. At this point, I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to simultaneously pick up the turtle with one hand, and protectively cup my genitals with my other. The turtle was literally vibrating with rage, snapping at every little piece of me that he thought he could reach. He was strong enough that I was struggling to keep him pinned to the ground so that he couldn't spin around on me.
Finally I chose to pick the thing up just slightly back from the midpoint of his shell. I was in fervent prayer that this thing's neck was too short to reach me. Damn, that thing was heavy, and damn, his flailing claws looked long and sharp. Oddly enough, when I lifted him, he calmed down a lot. He just kept looking at me, hissing with his enormous mouth wide open. I waddled over to the nearest part of the creak, laid him in the water, and quickly stepped several feet away. I was shaking from equal parts of fear and adrenaline. Chalk up another mark on my "animals saved" chart.
CLIFFS: Dinosaurs still thrive in Tennessee, and for some reason I decided to grab one.
