Turtles, Cats, the Death Machine & Me

** I started this post eons ago (try late May), and about a third of the way through, saved it as a draft. So about two-thirds of this is my grasping, flailing memory. Enjoy. **

I somehow have this whole Animal Planet theme going on in my life for the last week. Let me recount the incidents backwards in chronological order....

Incident #3: Is not really an incident, more of an extended conversation/encounter. My friend Stephanie and I took a road trip out to Shipshewana yesterday in the muggy, blazing heat. I will not bore you with the details of my mistaken ideas that the flea market was indoors like my beloved Trader's World or that there would be booths full of seconhand/antique furniture for bargain prices. It still was a good trip, and Stephanie and I had plenty of time to chat. She trains guide dogs for the disabled, her current one being a yellow lab named Cassidy (in addition to her own pet yellow lab, Boxer). So I quizzed her on general dog and lab knowledge, since I have been dying to get a chocolate lab for ages. Later that day, our group was at her house for our Memorial Day cookout, and I recollected tangibly just how much these wonderful dogs shed. Hmmm... a slight damper on my enthusiasm.

Incident #2: The Great Turtle Rescue of '06. This happened the day before Shipshewana, I think, and it was a caper of adorable proportions. My friend Sarah Bailey and I were on our way to Youngstown to pick up a great ebay find (yes, driving to Youngstown for pick-up was more fiscally-sensible than paying for the shipping, plus Sarah and I got to bond - and you cannot ignore the need for female bonding!). She met me at my dad's place and we headed out on the road. We got about a quarter of a mile when we saw him. Or her. (I'm not a turtle gender expert.) He/she/it was in the middle of the right lane, all greeny-brown and hell-bent on either getting smashed or getting across the road, whichever came first (most likely the smashed part). Now, this was a turtle, so you know "hell-bent" is a relative term.

In a fit of pathos, I made a u-ie (or is that u-ey?) and pulled over to the side of the road. I then ran out in the middle of traffic (ok, so I waited for the cars to pass) and, ignoring every "Oh, God, I hope it's not a snapping turtle!" and extra-girley inclination of "EW!", I grabbed it 'round the shell and hustled back over to the Trailblazer. Said turtle had done his turtley thing and gone into hiding. Not sure that I could drive and hold a turtle at the same time, I prevailed upon Sarah to hold it while I rushed back that whole quarter-mile to Dad's so we could deposit him near the pond. I felt empowered.

Incident #3: The Death Machine. After this incident, I waxed a little philosophical. But then I removed the waxy build-up, so I won't bore you with my meanderings here. (You'll have to steal my journal!)

Anywho, I came home from work a couple of evenings before The Great Turtle Rescue to find my sister's cat, Spot, sitting and staring intently into the grass. Normally Spot is right at your car door as soon as you open it, thanks to my aunt, so her behavior seemed a little odd. I approached the cat to see what was holding her interest so strongly, and startled the little-more-than-a-baby rabbit into hopping away. Which got Spot to bound playfully at it. Except Spot's version of playing usually ends up with a dead critter in Dad's garage.

Now, it's drizzling, and I've got my gigantic purse and my umbrella bogging me down. I also happen to like bunnies as well as turtles and dogs. So imagine me, laden with umbrella and heavy, giant purse, taking off after cat and rabbit. And when they stop, I catch up. And when I catch up, it scares the bunny again. This goes on for several minutes (Lord, thank you that my dad wasn't home to observe this) until bunny, cat, and (eventually) I reach the trees and underbrush on the other side of the drive. Bunny hops in, hoping for cover, followed by cat, followed by my frustrated admonishments towards Spot. After a few seconds, some rustling, some horrible crying that could only come from the rabbit, Spot saunters out with the bunny in its mouth.

I understand this is nature, folks. Some of you are laughing at me, but those cries of impending doom were heart-rending. And I hated fat, lazy Spot at that moment. Which I know is unfair - she was just being a cat, and is normally a very friendly, sweet one at that - but it's the truth.

Somehow I managed to do something that got Spot to drop the bunny (which seemed relatively unharmed), but didn't mangage to contain the cat. So we did our little hop-chase-jog back towards the underbrush. This time, however, I managed to grabbed Spot's tail and hold her back for a few moments, giving the rabbit a little time to make its get-away. While I know I didn't hurt Spot at all, I'm sure it annoyed her. It is to her credit that she didn't turn around and bite my hand, which I fully expected her to do.

So, I pressed the pause button on the Death Machine, and the bunny lived to die another day.