For about 16 or 17 years, I've had to explain why I named my turtle Trout. It was pretty simple: the day my mother bought my brothers and me each a turtle, was the day I went to the Toronto Sportsman Show with some of my friends. At the show, they had a trout fishing demonstration inside the building, which we wanted to see but I think we missed it for some reason. Even though it's been nearly two decades, the fact that I remember the day is a result of me giving my turtle an unusual name. The other two turtles have long since passed from this world. Trout has been alone for most of his life. He's also grown from the size of my palm to the size of a football. A football with pointy claws. He's also had to deal with living in a fish tank that lets him turn around and that's about it. Luckily, in recent years, we've been able to leave him outside in a kiddie pool during the summer months. He had a nice flat rock to sunbathe on, plenty of bugs to munch on (thanks to my mom and my brother's diligent bug-catching efforts), and a cleverly designed lid to keep the raccoons out (thanks to my dad's ingenuity). But now that I've moved out and live in a condo, I've spent the better part of a year trying to figure out how I was going to move my turtle to sky-high living. It seemed unnatural, in more ways than one. My mother had been complaining about him for years and years, and was constantly asking when I was going to take him with me. Something had to be done.
About a month ago, my cousin asked me if I'd be willing to sell my turtle to a friend of a friend of hers. This person had a pond and was in the market for a turtle, but wanted to avoid the sketchiness of pet stores. This pretty much was the solution to my problem. Unfortunately, after some back-and-forth discussion, the deal fell through. I was back to strategizing when my cousin contacted me again with another potential taker. This time, it was a wildlife conservation facility near Orillia called Scales Nature Park. They have the most extensive collection of reptiles, and more importantly, they take in animals if their owners can no longer care for them. It makes for a better alternative than just setting them loose in the local environment. So today, I packed up my turtle and drove up north to Oro-Medonte. I wasn't sure what to expect, and when I got there I was really surprised how large the facility was, considering it looked just like a rural house from the outside. They had a lizard that was the size of my coffee table. When the owner, Jeff, brought me outside to the pond, I knew right away that I had made the right choice. The other turtles jumped into the water as we approached, and he told me that it doesn't take long for turtles, even if they'd lived in a tank their whole life, to revert back to their natural instincts when they're left alone. Even the ones that used to beg for food when you came up to the side of the tank would bite your finger if you tried to touch them.
The one thing that made me feel better was when Jeff told me that Trout was the healthiest, most colourful specimen that had ever been brought to him. When I told him that we kept him outside during the summer, he said that's what makes the world of difference. So even though I fell short in some of the caregiving, at least I had taken care of him properly where it mattered the most.
I left Trout at the side of the pond as he was taking in his new surroundings. Jeff told me that he may not be here for the rest of his life. They try to adopt out the animals to anyone who's willing to take care of them. But he noted that it was less likely that someone would want to adopt an older, larger turtle as opposed to the cute baby ones. I was fine with it either way. I may stop by the park to visit him in the future, on my way up to a cottage or some other northern adventure. But by the time that happens, he will probably jump in the water as I approach.
"Remember all the things we wanted, now all our memories, they're haunted, we were always meant to say goodbye"
