I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't know where I get all these crazy ideas from, but once I think of them I can't help but to write them down. Such as they are. This one's plenty twisted, but I hope you'll like it anyway. If not, there's always next time. ~ JH
"FOR PETE'S SAKE"
If you've never had a turtle bite off your toes one by one, let me tell you, you're really missing out. I, for one, am glad to have had the experience, even if it means that walking on that foot will be difficult, if not impossible, going forward.
I was a little nervous at first. I mean, I didn't go into it willingly, you understand. I was there, the turtle was there, he felt like biting, I have meaty feet, and the rest is history.
The pain was unbearable at first, but after awhile I just sort of forgot about it, lost in the wonder of watching the turtle going about his carnivorous task.
I took a few pictures – I don't know if you'd like to see them or not. Most people don't. For some reason.
You're probably wondering how I can speak so calmly about what most would deem a harrowing experience. I can't explain it myself. I know I should be horrified, scarred for life even – more than just the physical scars, I mean. But I'm not. In fact, I find myself longing to relive the experience, as strange as that may sound.
Which, as it turns out, is entirely possible. You see, after it was all said and done, I wouldn't let them kill the turtle. I had become as attached to him as he had been to me. These days, I consider him not only my pet, but my very dear friend as well.
So if, in the next week or the next year or whenever the notion may strike him, the turtle (whom I call Pete) feels the need to gnaw on something again – well, he's welcome to my other foot. What do I need it for anyway? Walking is optional, but loyalty never is.
I was a little nervous at first. I mean, I didn't go into it willingly, you understand. I was there, the turtle was there, he felt like biting, I have meaty feet, and the rest is history.
The pain was unbearable at first, but after awhile I just sort of forgot about it, lost in the wonder of watching the turtle going about his carnivorous task.
I took a few pictures – I don't know if you'd like to see them or not. Most people don't. For some reason.
You're probably wondering how I can speak so calmly about what most would deem a harrowing experience. I can't explain it myself. I know I should be horrified, scarred for life even – more than just the physical scars, I mean. But I'm not. In fact, I find myself longing to relive the experience, as strange as that may sound.
Which, as it turns out, is entirely possible. You see, after it was all said and done, I wouldn't let them kill the turtle. I had become as attached to him as he had been to me. These days, I consider him not only my pet, but my very dear friend as well.
So if, in the next week or the next year or whenever the notion may strike him, the turtle (whom I call Pete) feels the need to gnaw on something again – well, he's welcome to my other foot. What do I need it for anyway? Walking is optional, but loyalty never is.
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