Reason #462

There are many things that I love about Warren and I often take them for granted. He was raised very differently than I. I am still learning to appreciate some of his finer qualities, especially his deep-seeded kindness towards all creatures.

When there is a scary looking bug in the house Team Oster does not kill it. All scary looking bugs must be captured on a piece of paper or in a cup and set free. (Team Oster does make exceptions for mosquitoes and roaches.) We have a special cruelty-free contraption specifically for rats and mice.

All pets that die must receive full burials in the backyard with special items and headstones. (Thankfully we haven't had to do this in years--knock on cyberwood.) Warren has even gone so far as to bury the neighbor's puppy (who hung himself in his kennel) so that she would not have to see the wreckage first hand.

On our frequent visits to Overton Park, we often encounter (non-poisonous) snakes on the trail. Rather than flee like me, Warren usually finds a long stick so that he can pick up the snake and return it to the safety of the woods.

I could go on, but I think you get the point.

A few Saturdays ago we were driving out to Cordova in search of a new roller derby helmet by way of Summer Avenue. While I was telling Warren a fascinating story of some sort, he swerved quickly and exclaimed, "There's a turtle in the road!" This of course got everyone in the backseat excited and a million questions started flying through the car as Warren made a series of alarming U-turns.

"A turtle? Where?"

"I want a turtle, can I have a turtle?"

"Where are we going?"

"What are we doing?"

"Can I hold the turtle?"

I chimed in with a question of my own. "Are you going to kill your family in order to save the turtle?" I asked in my usual unappreciative way.

Warren pulled to the side of the two lane road, hit the hazard lights, and jumped out of the car in search of the turtle. (How he even saw the turtle I don't know.) In a flash, the turtle was on the floorboard in back and Warren was back at the wheel.

"Let me touch him!"

"Is he alive?"

"Can we keep him?"

(Me again) "And what do you plan to do with this turtle now?" I asked.

"I don't know...let him go at Shelby Farms where he'll be safe."

I liked this plan. The backseat did not.

"No, I want to keep him!"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease!"

Warren amended his response. "We can let him go next week."

"Yay!!!!!!!!!!!"


The turtle was the center of the boys' attention for about a day and a half. Then the orange tote that housed him sort of just blended into the living room. When we informed the boys that it was time to take the turtle to his new home in Shelby Farms they once again turned their attention towards him so that he might leave with fond memories of them.

Jiro and I fell asleep on the drive to Shelby Farms so Warren and Satchel hiked out on their own to find a safe spot to let him go. When they returned to the car, Satchel said, "I wrote my name on the turtle's shell so that he will always remember me."

"Huh?"

"I had a sharpie in my pocket," Warren sheepishly said.

That's #463.