Saving Shelly

by Steve Wenick

There it was stuck smack in the middle of the road. I tapped my brakes and slowly coasted closer to it; yet I still could not make out what it was. At first glance it appeared that it was just another clump of road kill or a twisted ribbon of torn off tire tread or even a bunch of soiled rags. I cautiously edged my car to the curb and stopped close to the unidentified object. I got out of my car and guardedly approached what turned out to be a very prehistoric looking creature. Upon closer scrutiny I discovered that the ‘thing’ was a turtle.

It was no ordinary turtle. It was huge. It had a massive head which sported a powerful hooked jaw, capable of snapping a broom handle in two. Its enormous weathered brownish-black shell was approximately eighteen inches long. Its saw-toothed tail was so huge that it could not fit completely under its protective shell and neither could its formidable looking clawed feet. The thing must have weighed 45 – 50 lbs. It was an intimidating looking primeval monster.

Nevertheless I felt sorry for that hapless and helpless creature which was probably about 50 years old or so and appeared to be nearing the end of its life. Nevertheless that geriatric turtle, which was powered by millions of years of DNA fuel, managed to follow its destiny to the middle of the road before running out of gas. It appeared as if it had been glued to the asphalt; I feared that its end would come sooner than later. I tried to coax it toward the sidewalk by gently nudging its shell with the tip of my shoe but each time I touched it the animal lurched toward me while snapping at whatever part of me it could reach.

Fortunately for me it only managed to grab a mouthful of air. After ten minutes of playing a game of touch and go with that primordial armored reptile I managed to annoy it just enough to convince it to move closer to the curb. Once it was temporarily removed from the flow of traffic I decided to call for help because it persisted once again to attempt to plod its way across the street.

First I called the local animal rescue organization which informed me that they do not rescue turtles. Then I called PETA. The representative on the other end, named Joe, was very accommodating but of no help. He suggested that I grab the beast by its tail and carry it out of danger. There was no way that was going to happen and for three good reasons: it snaps and snaps and snaps.

So there I was alone and stuck with the creature which by now I had grown protective of and even gave it a gender neutral name, Shelly. Abandoning it at this point was not an option because it would only end up in the middle of the street again. I was totally at a loss what to do next. Suddenly I had an idea. I called one of my neighbors and asked if he would drive a couple of blocks to where the drama was unfolding and bring a shovel. I figured that I could safely scoop up the antediluvian behemoth with the shovel and deposit it safely on the curb out of harm’s way.

When Stew pulled up in his car, he realized that in his haste he forgot to bring a shovel. Undaunted by that minor setback he assessed the situation, and decided to call a local newspaper to see if they had any ideas who might help or if they thought the trekking turtle was a story worth reporting. Stew was wrong; the paper simply declined the potential scoop. I assumed it decided that a murder, robbery, or fire story would make for a better headline than, “Why Did the Turtle Cross the Road?” So Stew got back in his car, put it in gear and drove off leaving me with alone with my dilemma and Shelly.

It was then that I decided to call the Cherry Hill Township’s office and ask for help. The voice at the other end suggested that I call the police and then the line went dead. I called the non-emergency number of police and the duty sergeant connected me to the police dispatcher. The dispatcher seemed a bit perplexed and unsure what to do; it’s not every day the dispatcher gets a call to rescue a turtle. To my surprise moments later three black and white police cars converged on the scene. I must have oversold the potential danger the prehistoric looking beast posed to have elicited such a rapid and powerful response.

As the officers got out of their vehicles, wearing their standard gear and a no nonsense police countenance, they looked at each other somewhat surprised that the crises turned out to be about nothing more than a fugitive turtle. Nevertheless one of the officers contacted the Wildlife and Conservation Agency seeking advice on how to best handle the situation without injuring the turtle. He was informed by the voice on the other end that since it was currently the turtles’ egg laying season state law forbids moving the creature more than 500 feet from where it was found. After two of the three police cruisers drove off I was confident that the one officer who remained to ‘preserve and protect’ had the situation under control and the amphibian’s safety was secured.

For reasons unknown to me, during my watch, I had grown quite protective of the creature. Perhaps it was the fact that I could not let my rescued pet, which had survived almost half a century, ignominiously meet its fate under the wheels of a truck or car. Also, to my surprise I felt a bit sad that I probably would never see that turtle again knowing that it would be restored to its haunts in a nearby stream or pond. Nevertheless I was consoled knowing that Shelly would be safe once again in its natural habitat.