Still Frankie is a regular visitor if not season snow bird and winter resident in my house....with all previous mentioned terrors that go with it.
I am a fan of Waffles the sulcata, our friend in the frozen North, and with every new photo I "awe" at the tiny Waffles' cuteness. Concurrently there is this underlining horror as I image the 100 pound Frankie in the same photo. Run, Mango! Run!
I love Frankie as deeply as a human can love an animal friend so I do the stupid again and again, anticipating catastrophes as best I can and accommodating Frankie as reasonable as possible in spaces he should not be.
We are masters of cardboard when Frankie comes indoors.
|Frankie, King of the Cardboard|
Frankie's dogloo is too big for our new gecko room so I had to come up with some new kind of box shelter for the 100 pound shell with bulldozer like feet.
Usually it's just a large box that Frankie can fit in head first. Frankie's protruding backside gets covered with newspaper or an old beach towel.
A cardboard box can't be too narrow otherwise Frankie will rip it open when he does his morning turn around from face-in-the-box to face-out-of-the-box position. I've looked and looked to find a box that is deep enough to get the whole of Frankie inside, snug enough so Frankie feels like he is deep in a cave, and yet wide enough so the morning turn around doesn't destroy yet again another box sending me back again to skulk about the recycling center.
Oh, I found this one box. I got this warm fuzzy feeling when I saw it. It was about four feet tall, a square 20 inches on each side. I snatched the box up and ran for the car before the recycle clerk could get out the operation office's front door.
When I got home I cut it in half. I then removed one side off the top half. Testing my engineering theory, I slid the three sided top over the back half of the box. Viola! New Frankie Cave!
I put the new cardboard castle on top of a large anti-fatigue rug (to shield Frankie from the cold cement floor), stood back and admired my genius.
Later that day Frankie rambled in from outside, smearing poop on a rug and knocking a new dent in a door frame as he headed through the house toward the gecko room. There was a moment of panic when I turned around and Frankie had disappeared as he decided to take the bathroom route into the gecko room rather than the front gecko room door.
Having recovered Frankie in the hall outside the bathroom I quickly pushed laundry baskets out of his way least he stop for shirt-stew with a side-of-socks. I gingerly step over the slow moving Frankie and open the Jack and Jill Bathroom door leading into the gecko room.
Without hesitation Frankie heads into the waiting cardboard cave as if cardboard were a sulcata tortoises' natural habitat. Nose in first, the only thing visible to the human eye is Frankie's awesome rear end (Eat your heart out, Waffles).
The second box is dropped over that cute sulcata butt and Frankie is all secure for another night in the gecko room.
This is the stuff I do for Frankie. If one owns a sulcata tortoise all this attention to cardboard boxes probably makes perfect sense. People who don't own a sulcata tortoise or similar are probably thinking, "She is utterly mad."
Probably. But again, allowing a 100 pound destruct-a-nator into a house inspires an evil, mad, genius to imagine great things of cardboard.
Dedicated to Pong who disappeared from his home near Mariposa County, California. His keeper, Farmer, misses his lost sulcata friend. If you are out there, PonG, please find your way home.
Help in the search for PonG. Please keep an eye on Craigslist, at turtle rescue groups and in pet shops. If you see this sulcata, please contact me. There is a reward.