Meet Shelli

Meet Shelly--or is it Shelli?
Our first living pet joined our household last month. This is huge, breaking news, as Meg and I very publicly loathe the idea of sheltering animals inside our living space (raising chickens in a coop outside? maybe some day). One perk of having kids who are mildly allergic to pet dander is that we have a legitimate excuse for rejecting the kids occasional plea for adopting a pet. Somehow this one slipped through the cracks. May I introduce Shelly, a 15-year old western box turtle. She lived with another family in Westmoreland who, ironically, became too busy with their young children to take care of her anymore. Meg found a listing for Shelly on craigslist while looking for someone who might have lost a cat, as one had recently showed up on our porch and refused to leave. I figured it was a stray, as it had no identification, but Meg insisted it belonged to someone. Meg doesn't like it when I tell this story, but just before bringing Shelly home, Edward picked up the mystery cat, disappeared, and returned maybe 15 minutes later. And that's the last we saw of that cat (that's how I wish the story ended, but it did come back a few weeks later, but our second shooing-away apparently worked)--it felt like a scene from a Haruki Murakami novel (where cats, especially disappearing ones, are frequently major plot elements).

Shelly seems to be pretty resilient to the kids' not-so-gentle and generally irresponsible habits and is still alive a month later. She lives in a large, plastic storage box in Aaron's room. The boys are supposed to take her outside every day, where she loves to crawl around and hide in the bushes throughout our garden. I haven't figured out what exactly she likes to eat, but I do know she loves earthworms and will eat sow bugs. Western box turtles can supposedly live about 50 years in captivity, so Shelly might out-stay even Edward (who has in the past claimed he's never moving out--he has lately softened this assessment though).

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