My Grandma Crucita once told me a story of a a little box turtle that her papa had found while working the fields. She kept it for a few years and told me, “I kept it in a hole as deep as my arm. One day I went to check on it and it was gone… I don’t know how it got out.”
A couple years ago the same thing happened to me and my brother-in-law, Kelvin, while we were working outside. We came across another box turtle that he gave to the girls and that little creature went through a lot… never complaining… haha. One day it was painted with glitter nail polish and another time it had little beads glued to its shell – good thing I found “Chaluup” before the glue dried up.
Girls and turtles… hmmmm… maybe that’s why it one day just disappeared like the last time.
I want to think it was the same one that my grandma had found many years ago. With all the abuse it handled, I guess a couple years with every generation is all it can take.