It's a Slow Crawl

What My Tortoise Taught Me About Grief

Tytus the Russian tortoise enjoying spring mix in his enclosure. Photo by me.

Contrary to popular belief, turtles are not slow. Land turtles like box turtles and wood turtles walk as fast as humans, at a clip of 3-4 MPH. But aquatic species really win the race, swimming 10-12 MPH while their ocean-loving relatives,sea turtles, glide through the waves at 22 MPH.

Tortoises, however, take their time only moving at an average speed of .2 MPH. Some, like the leopard tortoise, can walk twice as fast. Russian tortoises, like the one I own, walk up to 4 miles in a single day. What they lack in speed, they certainly make up for in endurance. They do have a heavy shell and little legs, so maybe we should give them some grace. (If you don’t know the difference between turtles, tortoises, and terrapins, here’s a handy guide.)

The bottom of a tortoise is called the plastron as modeled here by Tytus. The top of the shell is called the carapace. You can also see Tytus’s long tail, which he keeps tucked to the side. Female Russian tortoises have much shorter tails that stick straight out. Photo by me.

Did you catch what I wrote in the previous paragraph? I own a tortoise. Those of you who follow me on social media have seen pictures of my newest addition, Sir Tytus John Scribbles of Oxford Commas. He has a big name for an animal whose plaston is a mere 4.5 inches long. Tytus came home with me in mid-March after I adopted him from a 69-year-old chelonian-loving gentleman at a reptile show. There’s no doubt the man would’ve been friends with my father. From what I could gather, Tytus, who is roughly 7-years-old, was abandoned at a pet store where “Dennis” (I don’t know his name, but Dennis seems as good a name as any) found him, vetted him, and kept him for seven months.

While Tytus was living the good life eating tasty broadleaf greens and basking under his heat lamp, all was not well in the Russian tortoise enclosure. See, Russian turtles are territorial and need a lot of space. Plus, the males were getting a little testy, which meant one had to go and that one was Tytus. When I met Tytus, I knew he was meant for me. He reminded me of the many unwanted or sick turtles my father rescued.

My tortoise has been a balm to my grief.

More than a pet, Tytus helps me remember some of my favorite memories of my father’s pet reptile husbandry–how he would soak his tortoises a couple of times a week and grab a handful of our dinner salad when we were finished eating to feed the turtles. There was a fenced area adjacent to our vegetable garden where the weeds grew wild he used as an outdoor enclosure. Under close supervision, the animals got vitamin D, nibbled on weeds, and enjoyed a bit of the life their wild siblings knew. The joy of owning turtles rushed back to me as I considered what type of chelonian to get–a box turtle or a Greek tortoise? A painted turtle or a terrapin? I settled on a couple of options with the Russian tortoise at the top of the list due to its diminutive size and less stringent care needs.

Still, it was an adjustment to find the right enclosure, lighting, substrate, and other needed items. At times I teared up wishing I could ask my dad what type of supplements he recommended or what type of enclosure was best. I was terrified I’d make a mistake and kill my new friend because of my own incompetence. Really, I didn’t know if I could do this without my father. It had been over 25 years since I lived in the same home as a reptile.

Tytus enjoyed some outdoor time for the first time in forever. Photo by me

What I didn’t consider is I’m a fast learner, swallowing information like some guzzle down their morning coffee. I don’t like to learn; I need to learn. I absorbed a lot about Russian tortoises in a short time. Some of the knowledge I gathered from my father flooded back to me. So did the memories–good ones of going to reptile shows, driving on back country roads looking for turtles, and turning over decaying logs to find snakes or salamanders. Those adventures taught me important life lessons–listen to the world, watch for movement, and wait in the stillness.

If I have to wait in stillness, I don’t want grief to be my companion. I’d rather shove it in a box and pretend I’m fine or leap away from it like a hare in the race with a tortoise. No matter how fast I am, I can’t outrun grief. It’s just there, like when I turned 45 on March 23.

My recent birthday was difficult. It was my first one without both of my parents. There was no one to recount the story of my birth or give me an overpriced “for my daughter on her birthday” card. As an only child with no close relatives, it’s up to me to remember my family’s story. It’s an added layer of grief.

My dogs are really annoying and always want to sniff Tytus when he’s out, so I’ve been trying to keep them away because they’re predators and they’re hindering his movement. Photo by me.

That’s where tortoises come in. Everything about them is slower, including their metabolism, which enables some species to have lifespans of 80-150 years. The man I got Tytus from has a tortoise he got when he was 12. They’ve spent the past 57 years together. A tortoise will always teach us we don’t need to be in a rush; there’s always time to get where we’re going. Sometimes slow and steady is the way forward. Even when the terrain is rough and uncertain, there will always be a dandelion to nibble on–a little moments of joy in a time of heartache.

I want to swim through grief at 22 MPH like a sea turtle, yet I’m reminded the grief journey is one of endurance. I need to keep taking slow, purposeful steps towards healing. One day I’ll look back and see the many miles I’ve walked. Today it’s simply about moving forward. Slow and steady wins the race.