Captain Daddio and Errol planted some turtles this weekend. So they told us with undisguised glee as Isadora and I returned from our booth at the Farmer’s Market. “Planted turtles?” we asked with furrowed brow, unable to process the information until Errol handed over the ping pong-like flexible white sphere. A turtle egg. Turns out Daddio uncovered a clutch of them buried in the mountain of topsoil we’ve earmarked for yard restoration and, with his trusty 4 year old sidekick, replanted them in a flowerbed near the house. With any luck at all, we could have some snapping turtles sprouting up in an indeterminate number of weeks.
Not to be left out of the turtle-planting-fun, Isadora herself uncovered more eggs from Topsoil Mountain and tried a different tactic, raiding my fabric stash for a sunny topper. We’ll see if this method provides a more hospitable incubation for the wee turtles-to-be.
And what a rash of snapper sightings there have been in the last few days! We spotted one stalwart momma trudging along in the pasture on Friday and needed to displace her slightly to set up a new sheep paddock. And yesterday morning Leila’s incessant barking alerted us to this one trying to scale the garden fence. The poor girl was pinned there by the barky dog and then found herself the center of all our attention, a position my experience tells me is undesirable to turtles. I carefully lifted her out and she remained calm, not snapping even once for the entire trip around the fence and out to the other side.
I should clarify that my assumption that both were females (or even that they were different turtles) is based solely on the correlation to the presence of eggs and the vague notion that it is the females that are out and about this time of year for laying purposes. I’d hate to mislead you into thinking I was skilled at sexing turtles.