Renovate 'da Fence

This year turned out to be very wet, damp, rainy, drenched, soggy....well, you get the picture.  Frankie's yard never saw a lack of water.  I only turned on the hose to clean and fill Frankie's big-honking mini-pool water dish.  I cringed every time it needed cleaning dumping even more water on the lawn.  Pool always needs cleaning.  Where else is a 110 pound sulcata going to pee?  In the yard.  Perish the thought.  Frankie pees right in front of the patio door or in the pool.

Am I a bit grumpy?  Maybe.  There are good reasons.

So, lots of rain, rain washing away grass seed, water flowing down hill, mud splashes, water pools at fence, Frankie has a second place to soak and play in mud.

Frankie's Mud Pit

We build that fence real good.  Extra wide horizontal boards to keep Frankie from pushing through the pickets. Pickets thicker than the standard size, used screws rather than nails....

...because, yes, big sulcatas can take down a fence.

So, back to the extraordinary amount of rain we get in Mobile.

I noted, on one of my walks through the yard followed closely by Frankie would wouldn't think of letting me walk alone, that dirt was really beginning to pile up against the fence.  As regular maintenance I dig out the dirt that rain has washed from the high ground to along the fence at the lower part of the yard.

Frankie is always cranky about my digging in his yard so he watches with keen interest.

I dig until I see pickets and as I suspected, five years of rain and muck has rotted out the bottoms.  Further investigation of the horizontal board shows there is some deterioration to the point where the wood is spongy.  I note that about fifteen pickets and one horizontal board need replacing.

Leaving Frankie who gladly stays to double check my work, I head back to the house to discuss with my newly retired husband that we have repairs to make on the fence.

Newly retired and still recovering from working full-time for 40 some odd years, hubby decides repairs can wait a day or two.  Fine.  I'll go back and do some more digging in preparation for those repairs.  The fence was built tough and will last a couple more days.  Yes?  Right.

I'm grumpy.  I dunno.  Maybe it's because I've been a house-maintainer and Frankie Keeper for going on 20 years so I am not recovering from full-time working.  I do house, geckos, cat, hubby and Frankie so I am not bored.  So, yes, I'll work on the fence.

Apparently Frankie had the very same idea.  He was bored so he started taking down the fence for me.

Yep, Frankie discovered that if he pushed just right on the spongy-from-water-rot horizontal board screws would slide right through and POP! fence was coming down.

Frankie deserves the nick-name Monster.  The whole neighborhood heard me screaming, "NO!  You stinkin' Monster! Frankie!  Stop!"  I am cutting back on my cussing.

One carrot later and I've got Frankie off the fence which is dangling by the top where the wood isn't rotting.  While Frankie eats carrots to keep him away from the fence I spend the rest of the day replacing pickets and shoring up spongy bottom boards.  The Hubby has to help with the bottom board but he is still in Early Retirement Recovery so that will happen another day.  The fence is okay.  For now.

No this isn't over yet.

Two days later, I catch Frankie doing fence maintenance.  Frankie has taken it upon himself to point out another overlooked section of rotting wood including a fence post that I catch the Monster Frankie attempting to severe from the cement holding it in place.

At this point why even bother yelling?  I turn around, go into the house, grab tools and a bag of carrots and tell hubby that rest and relaxation ends and fence repairs begin.  Now.  Seriously, now. 

Blaw, blaw, blaw, three hours, repair fence, we shake heads as we look at Frankie incredulously.

Monster.

Frankie's First Hurricane

Made it through our first official Hurricane on the coast.  Well, we were visiting family in Oklahoma so technically we participated from afar. 

Frankie, on the other hand, made it through his first official Hurricane. 

From afar, guiding caretakers on how to secure the sulcata monster in a hurricane proved to be a challenge. 

Frankie, geckos and cat had a morning Care-Taker, a mid-take Checker, and a evening shift Care-Taker.  Everyone had specific tasks from petting cat, watering geckos, feeding box turtles, petting cat, and last but not least, taking care of the 17 year old, 115 pound sulcata tortoise once known as Frankie but currently going by the name of Monster, and petting cat.  

Of all the care instructions, Frankie's seemed simple:  Make sure he is in yard, keep water filled, and throw him a carrot every day.  Sounds very simple, right?

The day the Morning Care-Taker showed up for training she did the unthinkable:  she wore an orange shirt.  The minute she stepped out in yard Frankie pursued her like the Cookie Monster pursues cookies. 

Reviewing care instructions while she dodged Frankie at every step was challenging.  She absolutely got why one THROWS the carrot rather than attempting to hand feed Frankie the carrot. 

(Everyone wants to hand feed the sulcata tortoise.  He has no interest in eating human fingers but a finger between him and the carrot can result in one losing one's finger.)

All care takers were told:  THROW THE CARROT. 

The biggest challenge was making sure Frankie was in his shelter during the hurricane.  In his shelter is a sturdy wooden box that would keep him safe.  Get in the box, Frankie, just get in the box. 

Early on, Frankie was annoyed enough by the rain to go into his shelter.  As Mid-Hurricane approached the Care-Taker followed instructions and closed the main door and dropped the flap over Frankie's smaller door. 

Sometime after she left, Frankie decided it was too hot and muggy to stay inside and pushed through his door flap. 

When the next Care Taker returned later she found Frankie sitting outside in the rain just before dark and hours before the peak of the hurricane.  The situation became tense. 

Can one explain over the phone how to lift a 115 pound sulcata tortoise during a hurricane and get him back inside his shelter?  Ya' can't. Neither could I expect anyone to endanger themselves when they should be home securing their own families. 

Frankie had planted himself between the fence and the shed.  He would get rained on but he would not get flooded.  There were no dangerous trees that would fall on him.  He chose wisely although any choice to be outside in a hurricane I though was stupid. 

Greg and I changed plans.  We left Oklahoma six hours earlier than planned, eliminated an overnight hotel stop, and drove straight through. 

The Hurricane turned out to be on the lower end of bad. Thank goodness.

The Morning Care-Taker arrived to find Frankie still in the same spot.  He refused to move or un-tuck his head.  Any attempt to sooth or touch him resulted in an aggressive backward ram and hiss. 

It took a carrot to get him to pull his head from behind his legs.  (The orange shirt would be useful in this situation)

The Care Taker called us (we were now in Mississippi) to tell us he was alive but "very angry."  She also said the cat desperately needed us to get home.

We arrived late that evening.  First stop, after petting the cat, was backyard to check Frankie.  He was in his shelter, in his box but did not acknowledge me.  A poke to his front foot confirmed that he was very much alive. In the morning he was much the same:  un-moving and refusing to acknowledge me. 

Time for a Wellness Test.  A carrot dangling close to his nose and a teasing "wanna treat, Frankie?" drew his head out enough to see that he okay.  He consumed the carrot in less than 20 second confirming he was in good health.

Frankie emerged from his shelter a bit later and spent most of the morning camped out by the backdoor.  His plastic lawn chairs (secured during the storm) were returned to the porch and he moved them about until he was satisfied they were in their rightful place. 

All considering, we emerged from our first hurricane in good shape.  Frankie braved the storm. 

We did find something serious we overlooked.  Even if Frankie had decided he wanted back into his shelter later that night he could not have gotten inside.  The flap on his door allows for him to get out but does not reverse direction to let him back inside.  Something we have to fix. 

If we don't fix it Frankie Monster may just ram himself a new door. 

Summer Mayhem

June is officially happening. Frankie transitioned from Winter-Blues to Spring-Burst-Of-Joy-For-70º-Weather! then tumbling quickly down to Summer-Can-It-Really-Be-That-Hot? miserable tortoise.

I'm miserable for other reasons.  I spent late winter through Spring sprucing up Frankie yard with new grass only to have the local wildlife dig up most of the newly laid sod and then watch spring rains...downpours...wash away all the newly sprouted grass seed.

Can't blame Frankie for lack of grass in his yard.  Sulcata Tortoises are great with grass (I said grass) in that the tortoise beak is designed to cut the grass without uprooting roots.

I mention grass is safe because anything...ANYTHING else growing in Frankie's yard is fair game for complete destruction.  Due to Frankie's vigilant attention there isn't a weed in the yard that lasts more than a day.

Mushroom? Mushrooms don't stand a chance.  Worried about potential toxins, I race Frankie to the yard in the morning to get those newly bloomed mushrooms before he does.  Doesn't matter.  He gets the ones I miss.  He's still alive.  Maybe I worry too much.

As for spring cleaning, I pressure washed the back porch and put up a new awning to shade the patio door.  Three old beaten-up plastic chairs were set out by the gate to be throw away.  Ten minutes later and Frankie pushed them all back on the porch.  Chairs are his toys.  We never sit in them anyway...too dangerous with Frankie around.

In consideration of Frankie's love of dandelions, his most favorite food even over carrots, I planted a yellow hibiscus bush...in the front yard...as a dandelion substitute.  A couple of weeks later I delighted to bring Frankie his first four very yellow hibiscus.

Frankie isn't usually aggressive but as natural sulcata behavior he has his moments.  I am keenly in-tune for situations that stir that side of him:  Never surprise a sulcata.  Don't startle a sleeping sulcata.  Don't take away the bucket. 

Showing a handful of yellow hibiscus flowers to a dandelion-starved sulcata was unwise.

When I knelt down to present Frankie his yellow treat I nearly was knocked over.

Frankie pulled his head back, hissing as the air expelled from his lungs and in a surprisingly agile manner leaped toward the handful of yellow in my outstretched hands.

I dropped the yellow hibiscus and rolled on the ground to avoid the 110 pound collision-bound Frankie.  Who knew at 58 years I was still capable of a precision forward roll.

So, good rule:  no yellow or orange shoes in the yard.

Have I ever mentioned that I collect Fiestaware?  Kitchen ware in bold colors:  red, blue, violet, green, yellow, tangerine and more.  Plates, bowls, candle sticks, pepper and salt shakers, coffee cups, and so on and so on.  My Fiestaware never gathers dust:  everything is used.  Just looking at all of the brightly colored dinnerware sitting in open shelves makes me happy.

So yesterday, I grabbed a yellow Fiesta bowl filled with cereal and headed to the backyard to visit the morning-basking Frankie.

So soon forgotten the orange and yellow rule.

Apparently, Frankie can I-Spy yellow from across the yard.

Walking toward Frankie who was way across the yard I see the signs of sulcata aggression:  Head up, eyes focused.....and movement like a speeding train with no breaks.

Balancing bowl full of cereal, I dodge to the left.  Frankie matches the turn.  I turn back toward the house and pick up my pace.

In movies, why does the hero being chased by zombies stupidly look over their shoulder to see if they are still being chased? (JUST KEEP RUNNING YOU IDIOT BECAUSE YES THEY ARE STILL CHASING YOU)

Oh, yes, why not check to see if they yellow-crazed 110 pound sulcata tortoise is still in pursuit?  HE IS!

And I turn back just in time to dodge three old plastic lawn chairs I should have thrown away but noooo, Frankie needs his toys.

Cereal is lost mostly on the ground and some on my shoes but hey, I need some hand function if I am going to open that back door.

I hear that red flags and bulls are a mostly a myth.  Stab a bull and piss him off and he is going to charge you...red flag or not.  To be safe, just don't wave a red flag at a bull.

Yellow and orange are Frankie's red flag, not mythical.  Which is why I don't wear yellow or orange shoes...or pants..or nail polish.  Or carry yellow Fiestaware in Frankie's yard.

Burglery

I am not paranoid.  Really, I am not.  I'm not all that interesting.  I don't attract attention.  I am quite ordinary.  No one is after me.

My secret is this:  the smallest person in the room wins.  Survival tactics from growing up in a family of five kids.  Who get's called to do the dishes?  First person mom spots.  Who gets scolded?  The loudest most obnoxious kid.  When mom reaches blindly into the car back seat and starts swatting, who gets hit?  The center kid.

My mastery of the subtle is sublime.  When Frankie is not with me, I go completely unnoticed.  When Frankie IS with me everyone is looking at the 110 pound tortoise.

Home security is about the same.  Don't be noticeable.  Don't put empty flat screen TV boxes by the curb.  Don't place your best silver on the front window shelf. Don't keep Frankie inside a chain link fence.

The front door is locked.  All gates closed and locked.  During the day the backdoor is unlocked so I can run in and out to see Frankie.

I spent the morning safe and relaxed on my computer in the front of the house editing some new Frankie pictures.  Really concentrating on cleaning them up, cropping, saving, etc.  Occasionally I hear rapidly running paws across the carpet....Newt, our cat, running wild, getting her exercise.  She knocked over some boxes earlier but no real damage.

After spending too much time working on the photos I think soon I need to go check on Frankie.  It's warm so he is outside basking and grazing.  He may want hay because Spring grass is slow growing.  He'll want his daily carrot.

I hear boxes in the hall get bumped.  Dumb cat.  It's cat nap time so what is she doing still running around?  Silence.  Okay, back to the pictures.

I hear the sound of paper being stepped on.  That's odd.  Doesn't sound like a cat walking on paper.

Finish the photo edit.  Save current file.  Turn around in my chair.

Have you ever tried screaming, your mouth wide open but what comes out is more like a gasping coughing.  Air that is supposed to go out is still getting sucked deep into your lungs.  What comes out sounds more like "WA..WA....aaaaaaahhhhhh.  Yeah, that scream that pretty much ends in a complete helpless choking fit.

I start waving my hands madly not because I am scared but that poor Frankie, in the house, in the dining room, five feet in front of me, acts like he is under attack. 

He frantically exhales making this WHHHHSSSSSSSSS noise, pulling back into his shell and wobbling like a spinning toy top. 

Frankie, having discovered the back door unsecured and not completely closed, has made his way through the living room, down the hall and all the way into the dining room. 

I am caught completely unawares by the Frankie burglar looking for carrots.

It took Frankie some time to trust me again.  Two carrots to be exact.

A Chance of Frankie

Tuesday the Hubby tells me that the chance of rain on Saturday is 100% and the temperature predictions are cool.

Awe.  We've had plans since November last to take Frankie to the April Mobile Autism Funky Fun Run.  Ten years of Frankie's attendance harkens spring much like the spring rain brings spring flowers.  But weather...well weather has final say if Frankie gets to go or stay at home.

We took Frankie to an event once when it was overcast and cool.  He spent the entire time trying to tunnel under nearby cars and bushes.  He was miserable.  WE were miserable.

Another time we took Frankie to an outdoor evening event. Nope, sorry, Frankie's bedtime is the minute that sun starts casting large shadows...oh, around 3:00 pm to 5:00 pm fall through winter.  No bushes around so he buried his head into a corner.  Call him no-participation.

Summer he still turns in well before 8:00 pm.  He's just not a night owl, early morning bird, or evening reveler.  He needs his beauty sleep.

Wednesday I ask Greg to check again as the weather does what it wants....just in case the notoriously fallible weather forecasters get it wrong.

Not only is rain predicted, now they say it could be heavy rains all day.

Awe.

Still I keep checking.  Thursday...same.  Friday...now it's chance of severe weather.  No chance of sun. No chance Frankie will get to the event.

I send an e-mail to Angel at the Mobile Autism office that Frankie probably won't be there due to the weather.

Notice I said "probably".  Ever hopeful.

Friday night I go out to Frankie's greenhouse, close up all the vents, wrap Frankie in hay, and close his door.  Ready for a storm.

"Night, Monster."  (Yep, still call him Monster.)

Heavy winds and rain don't wake me.  I just wake up at the six o'clock hour (no alarm needed as I just wake up).  Head to the computer to check, one more time, just in case, for weather predictions for the day.

What?  Really?  Chance of rain plummets to 5% for the morning with partly cloudy skies and temperatures in the low 70's.

What sorcery is this?

Run....at little old lady speed....to wake Greg.  Convenience him I am telling the truth.  Offer to make French Toast if he wakes up.

Can't say there was any type of divine intervention.  Our weather forecast has been horribly unreliable this spring.

The chance of Frankie attending this year's Funky Fun Run: 100%.

The unpredictable weather caused some vendors to cancel and quite a few people got word that the event was off....but many showed up.

Frankie was there.  The abundance of clover on the grounds meant Frankie feasted.  More grazing than walking but more shell rubs for him.

Frankie loved it.

Me grazing at Mobile Funky Fun Run for Autism. Mom surrenders that she will never pick me up ever, ever again. Ever. Get help, ma. I'm not getting back in the car by myself.

Noise, Bucket, Monster

I've been working on this Frankie Tortoise Tail for a while but just couldn't get it "framed" right.  Just didn't seem to have a start or a finish so it's been left undone. Surrendering to pressure to post "anything" about what Frankie is up to I thus present this:

Over last year's holidays I shared a Frankie Tail over dinner with some friends. One friend laughed so hard I thought she was going to fall off her chair.  Another stared in confused-disbelief.  Guessing the "Tail" is tell-able here it goes told just the way I told it over a dinner party.

Frankie got his first noise complaint.  Really.  I brag that neighbors can't complain about noise because sulcata tortoises don't bark. It's a perk point for tortoises.

Apparently I am very, very wrong.

During one of the last year's warm Fall weekends, I headed out to check the mailbox. My next-door neighbor spotted me and waved to have a word.

My neighbor, an avid lawn and garden caretaker, asked me if everything was okay as he grew concerned about the loud "moaning" and "groaning" noises coming from our backyard.....all morning.  

Immediately I face the dilemma whether to explain in scienfic or slang terms exactly what my sulcata tortoise is doing to his favorite orange bucket.

I choose "humping".

My dear 14 year old, sexually mature, 108 pound sulcata tortoise, Frankie, is outside in his yard "loving" his orange bucket.....for four hours.  Four.  Hours.

This four hour love-fest is perfectly normal behavior for Frankie and most all healthy male sulcata.

This happens all the time.  Yes, humping for hours. All the time.

Although my neighbor didn't ask, I promised I'd take Frankie's bucket away on weekends so everyone could work peacefully in their yard.

Back to the Dinner Party.  The disbelieving-astonished guest inquired further as to what a 100+ pound tortoise humped as obviously we don't own a female sulcata tortoise and never will.  I went on to explain about "bucket love."

I explained about Frankie's obsession with buckets. Not just buckets. There's been other objects of Frankie's "Tough Love."  "Tough" in that object's of Frankie's Interests don't survive that long....intact.

In the past there was Umbrella Stand.

Umbrella stand is an all-time favorite but getting too small to really please Frankie.

Julie of Long Island Turtle Rescue's gifted Frankie this turtle umbrella stand. 

Grey bucket's gave five year of service.

Frankie's current  bucket is it's third year of Tough Love.  

Orange Bucket needs the weekend off.  Orange bucket is beginning to split so it needed some recovery time anyway.

Frankie was pretty grumpy about loosing orange bucket.  I thought I would make it up to him by buying a big pumpkin.  I thought he would be amused chasing down the big round pumpkin trying to eat it.

I watched him chase the pumpkin trying to chomp into it before it would roll away again.  He seemed quite engaged in the activity so I went back inside the house.  An hour or so later I went back to see what was left of the pumpkin.

To my horror I found Frankie upside down next to the uneaten pumpkin. Humping trumped eating and obviously Frankie slid off the round pumpkin and onto his back.

This is real horror to any sulcata owner.  Sulcata tortoises cannot right themselves.  Left on their back, they can die of heat stroke if under a hot sun or suffocate if left there.

I ran to Frankie and turned him back over.  He seemed to be stunned and I didn't want to leave until he recovered.  I sat with him for what seemed an eternity before he started walking around again.

This is where it gets strange.  This is also how Frankie got a new name:  Monster.

Once Frankie was feeling more like himself he started stomping around the yard. Not the usually Frankie-walking-around-enjoying-yard but with a madder-than-hell look.

The aftermath was total destruction of the greenhouse's door cover.  Door cover I built (picture below) BEFORE Mad-As-Hell Monster took revenge for bucket loss.

Before

During

It wasn't an accident.  After ramming one side he sorta swayed back and forth to make sure it came all the way down.  I ran inside to get the camera!

I cleaned up the mess once I pulled everything off the top of Frankie...um I mean Monster.  He seemed satisfied that he had made his point.

I don't know what the point was. The door didn't do anything.  He's gonna get a new bucket.  He'll get five days of tough love with weekends off.  He got to eat the pumpkin!

So ends the Dinner Party Frankie Tortoise Tail.  The story of how a sulcata tortoise can bother the neighbors.  The story of Bucket Love.  The story how Frankie got his new name, Monster.

Door

Frankie and I are gonna have a big discussion. Big Discussion real, real soon.

No matter that Frankie wants me to believe he doesn't understand English.  He does.  Ask any pet owner.  Pets understand what we are saying.

And I have something to say to Frankie. Something must be done.

It's about the back door.  The French Door to the backyard.  The French Door that double opens wide, the main thoroughfare between Frankie's kingdom and our human domain.  That door is used A LOT.

If that door was a grocery store it would be the busiest store in the whole city: demanding people coming and going 24 hours a day gettin' what they need, staff working to stock shelves and help customers, cars coming and going....busy, busy, busy. You get the picture.

I use that back door all day, in and out, over and over, going out to give Frankie hay, opening Frankie's greenhouse in the morning and closing the door at night, watering the grass, watering Frankie, checking on loud noises, feeding the box turtles, giving Frankie a carrot, checking why I haven't seen Frankie in an hour....busy, busy, busy, all day.

It's a key door in my life.

Most irritating is I only use 1/2 of the French door. Only one side.  The other side is blocked by a cat tree so that Newt and Scrat can watch Frankie, the birds, squirrels, and nocturnal visitors like raccoons and possums.  I only need the one part and the cats have the other.  One door is enough.

Here lies the problem.  Frankie is claiming territory.

When Frankie does something the first time it can be considered a random event, just something that happens, and usually not a repeating offense.

I open the back door and find a huge Frankie poop and pool of pee right smack-dab at the base of the busiest door in the house.  Its worth a roll of the eye and a huff of disgust.

The large pool of pee spread the length of the door means I have to jump to avoid getting the smelliest urine in the animal kingdom on my feet.  The poop is not so bad.  It's the least offensive smelling animal poop I know. In 24 hours Frankie poop can just be punted off the porch just like a football.

I walk to the front yard, turn on the water, and drag the hose back to the patio. Thirty seconds later the offensive smelling pee is off the patio.  Small side track from a day's worth of chores. Irritating but not so bad.  Task done.  Onto other things.

Next morning I open the door and there lies a pool of Frankie pee with a side of Frankie poop. Eye roll and huff of disgust accompanied by a deep disturbance that today may signal a very unwelcome Frankie behavior.

The second time Frankie does something is worth noting.  If Frankie rams the lime tree two days in a row then it's time to move the lime tree out of Frankie's reach.

Come on, Frankie!  You have the whole yard!

Every day I gotta scoop poops in the greenhouse, even in the summer, because morning poops in your greenhouse house are a rule.  I accept that.  The Purple Pooper Scooper lives in the greenhouse to accommodate this poop habit.  Accommodation at hand.

But, Frankie, the back door?

Day three.  Yep.  Again.

The greenhouse means never having to clean up poop and pee off the bathroom floor ever again.  Summer means all poop and pee are in the yard...WHERE THEY BELONG.

Day four.  Nothing.

Day five.  I am doomed.  Frankie has staked claim to the back porch right by the back door. His to do as he please.

Maybe it's just be a message.  He may want more attention.  Or carrots.

My mind is made up.  Tomorrow morning: coffee by the back door.  I am laying my own claim.  If he wants that spot he will have to push me off, chair and all.

The gauntlet is tossed.  Gloves are off.  Challenge made.

Don't lay bets on me.  The odds are always in Frankie's favor.

-----
Dedicated to Anne O'Bryon who is married to champion pooper-scooper Marcus O'Bryan. Peace and love to you.

Dress For Dinner

With Frankie Tortoise Tails, I only ever want to tell the truth about sulcata tortoises and give a clear warning to potential buyers and those ooging I-wanna-cute-wittle-big-eye-tortoise-like-'tis-wittle-pet-shop-baby-sulcata-dat-the-clerk-says-will-never-get-bigger-then-da-tank-I-put-it-in impulse buyer. Yeah.

Ya gotta know what you're up against when that cute baby turtle hits 105 pounds.

A friend told me that a storms blew over her fence and within a day her big adult male sulcata pushed through temporary fixes to the fence.  With some incredible good luck and attentive neighbors, the runaway tortoise was spotted and an animal rescue group quickly located Franklin's worried owner.

...storms, fence damage, tortoise rescue isn't the point of the story.  The point is the rescue group weighted big ole Franklin.....wait for it.....a whopping 150 pounds.

I always thought that reports of 150 pound sulcata were unsubstantiated guesses.  After all how many tortoise owners have a large animal scale in their bathroom?

I KNEW I should have underfed Frankie all these years!  Too late now.  I am doomed.

As I continue to creep around in my now six month depression Frankie...the future 150 pound Frankie...continues to keep me on my toes.

He is a force to be dealt with.

Last week he tore up the box turtle's outdoor enclosure who luckily were inside at the time.  It appeared that he just went full-out sulcata ram at the back corner fence area.  The long line of the fence was pulled away from the permanent cemented weather station pole, and area around front tumbled the stacked bricks that held it in place.

Really?  Is Frankie now ramming structures?  Do I need to worry about the shed?

After a little clean up and careful observation I discovered the truth of how that fence came down. Frankie didn't ram the box turtles fence after all.  Nope.  Frankie was enthusiastically loving on his orange bucket right next to the fence and consequentially the fence became collateral hump-damage.

Truth.  Nothing is safe in Frankie's yard.

Like wearing nice clothes or your best shoes around Frankie.  Don't.

I have this dress.  It's a gorgeous dress from my favorite clothing store, Clear Water Creek.  I cannot afford to buy anything at full price from the place so when I find a $150 dress for $20 (did someone accidentally mislabeled this?), I was thrilled.  It's a dress that I will never have occasion to wear: sherbet green eyelet cotton, sleeveless, scoop neck, ankle length, lined,...beautiful!  I've had it since last summer...never worn it.

At home, doing nothing, depressed...so I wore it.  The dress really made me feel a bit better.  Went outside to see Frankie.  He liked the dress so much that I had to drop the carrot and run back to the house.

The dress required hand washing which means I put it in the washing machine anyway, but I was not going to put it in the drier.  I put it on a hanger and hung it on the fence out of Frankie' reach.

Just after dinner I went outside to bring the dress back inside.

Do you know how far a sulcata tortoise can stretch their neck?  Have you ever seen a sulcata tortoise stand up on tippy-toes?  Between an outstretched neck and tippy-toes the dress was just not high up enough.

I found the dress on the ground.  At first I thought it just fell on the ground and Frankie hadn't noticed it at all.  Then I saw the chew marks.

Go ahead and say it.  I already did.  Frankie had the dress for dinner.

The good news is Frankie couldn't shallow.  He just chewed.

The dress got washed again then hung in the shower to dry.

Really I was never going to wear that dress out in public anyway.  Never going to have an occasion to wear it when jeans and a tailored shirt will suffice just as well.

I am never going to install a clothes line in Frankie's yard. No, that clothes line would need to be high up to keep Frankie's inquiring appetite from eating more clothes.  I'd have to use a ladder.

Do I need to explain what happens to ladders when Frankie is around?

Therapy Dig

Fear not, Frankie and I still exist.  I'm visiting one of my Deep Depressions which occasionally stops by like an unwanted guest.  I'm pretty good at surviving them.  This depression is no charmer but it's not a record breaker:  The worse lasted two years.

I've developed a sense of humor about withdrawing into a hermit like existence.  There is the bonus weigh loss that occurs due to the absolute disinterest in food, and trimming outside activities so to concentrate on remembering to bathe, brush my teeth, and feed Greg and the cats.

[No worries.  Got a doctor who loves throwing prescriptions at me. Sorry doc, already tried that pill. Yep, tried that one too. I can do Hermit but don't wanna be a Zombie.  Can we just keep it simple?  I've been doing this since I was sixteen, You weren't even born yet.]

Frankie showed up in my life at the end of that long two year record depression and he continues to challenge my keen ability to remain un-moving indoors doing absolutely nothing but wondering what day it is.  

He showed up on the porch the other day covered with dirt.  

Nothing spells trouble like a dirt covered sulcata shell.

 I know that sulcata tortoises dig.  Digging is part of who they are.  Digging long tunnels down underground sometimes eight to fourteen feet long is instinct.  Where else do you think a sulcata tortoise would live?  

Attempting to beat an animal's natural instinct is probably mankind's most arrogant trait. Long before Frankie moved into out lives, Greg and I have schemed and devised ways to keep our sulcata from digging. We've really, really tried.  Hence our elaborate Frankie Caves over 14 years.  

Real Important Point:  If a sulcata tortoise has a place to sleep where he feels secure and comfortable, he probably will not dig.  Key words there are secure and comfortable.

Check posts about Frankie's houses and you'll find we've been very successful proving Frankie with such places.  Mostly.  Until it gets hot.

Frankie showing up at the back door covered with dirt means he is digging to find a cool spot.  The hair on my neck stands on end and even though I am in a air conditioned room I break into a sweat.  I head outside urgent to find what Frankie's been into.

Right off I see the wood pallet set by the fence corner toss over like some kid has kicked over a stack of wooden building blocks.  Yep, Frankie started digging here.  Good news: He got stopped by the pieces of cement I put into the hole he tried to dig last summer.  Bad news is he moved on from here to find a better dig for The Spot.

Frankie has caught up with me, brushing against my leg.  I look down at him a bit annoyed.  He looks up at me like "You ain't seen nothing yet."

Farther on between the shed and the fence I find the area where I plant clover has now been all dug up.  But this isn't The Spot.  Frankie just test dug out all the clover.  So I proceed along the fence hunting for The Spot.  

Nothing for the entire length of the yard until I get to the fence by the house. I stood in silent wonderment at the carnage.  This spot wasn't just digging.  This is more wrecking and destruction.

I spent last fall excavating this particular area putting down bricks and wood all around a awkwardly placed railroad tie.  Frankie refuses to walk around this cumbersome object around but instead insist on walking over it.  He struggles to crawls over from below and in the reverse direction slides off with a PLOP to the ground.  I carefully landscaped bricks and wood to force Frankie to walk around the railroad tie.  

He dug all that up. Bricks and wood are scattered all around the immobile railroad tie.  Not sure what I am going to do about this mess.

Frankie catches up with me again.  I look down at him annoyed.  He looks up at me, proudly, "Huh? Whadda think?  Good job, huh?"

Still, this is not The Spot we are looking for.

There by the house, in a nook of the house it the Big Dig.  Frankie has dug a dirt pit to keep cool. It's not a tunnel.  It's just a place to dig into the cool dirt.

If it was a tunnel he would be digging under our house.

Good news:  no tunnel under the fence and into Greater Mobile.  

Still, I am going to have to keep a very close eye on this corner.  The Spot is "comfort" which the greenhouse can't provide.  Frankie gets to keep his hole.  A shade cloth is placed over The Spot to increase Frankie's feeling of comfort and security.  I'll go out daily and hose it down with water. It will be a mud hole. Frankie will like that.

That rascal, Frankie.  He got me out of the house.  I'm doing a little yard work.  Now I am writing.  

Frankie is better than drugs.

A Day In Frankie's Life (video)

Ever wonder what a day is like for Frankie?  What can a sulcata tortoise do all day?  The list isn't all that long:

Get some beauty sleep

Bask in the glory of sunlight till the shell hums with warmth

Walk everywhere

Drink as much water as you want

Check out the sky

Make sure the trees are in their place

Look for exotic foods

Get the daily carrot

Check out the humans

Inspect the yard for intruders and strange objects

Hump anything resembling another tortoise

Ram invaders

Inspect buildings and fences

Wait for a walk around the block..

Okay, so the list gets long once you observe Frankie and his shenanigans.  

Your turn to check our Frankie and his daily routine.....about four hours worth of Frankie business.

Video is three minutes and twelve seconds.  Enjoy!

 Comments are always welcome!

A Seedy Problem

A reprieve....I have a day's reprieve.  It's raining outside, Frankie is hanging out inside his greenhouse, I get to sit and write a Frankie Tortoise Tail.

New problem in the Frankie's Backyard Paradise.  

Two years ago when we moved here our neighbor let us know we had a fruit tree in our yard. The excellent tree that shades the back porch is some sorta exotic fruit tree that I had never hear about.  I kept an eye on it that first year yet no flowers or fruit every appeared.  

Frankie loved eating the non-toxic year round green leaves that fell in the yard.  Pretty much, except for the excellent shade and delicious leaves I quit paying attention to the tree. 

.....until this December.  Tiny lovely white flowers began adorning the tree.  What tree blooms in the middle of the winter?

The Loquot Tree does.  

Not only does it bloom in the winter, it's one of the very few trees that produces fruit in the winter.  

Curiously I watched as the fruits begin forming.  By January the little green fruits were thumb size. In February they begin to ripen into yellow luscious fruits.

Fruits are a no-no for sulcata tortoises.  The fruit sugar wrecks havoc with the tortoise digestion system evolved for a scant grassland diet.  Sugars cause intestinal bacteria imbalances, and contributes to the dreaded bladder stones.   

Just say, "No," to fruit Frankie.  Just say, "No!"

Frankie camps out under that Loquot Tree like a beggar.  

First thing in the morning I head out to the tree and pick up anything fallen from the night before.  

Doesn't matter.  Frankie haunts the tree like a Florida retiree on a beach.

Frankie under the Loquot Tree

Took just a couple of days to realize I was missing all the "pre-nibbled" fruit dropped to the ground by birds.  Bits of fruit fall the ground hidden by grass and dirt and only the sharp nose of a tortoise can find the little sweet morsels.

And then there were the seeds.  For barefooted me its like stepping on Tic-Tacs.  I know they are there.  I can feel them.  The panic came when I realized that Frankie was eating the seeds.  

An internet search reveals the seeds may or may not be poisonous, depending on the source. Thanks, Internet.   

Time for Poop Patrol.  I dissect three previous days' poop.  Yep.  Frankie is eating the pits.  

Good news:  Frankie doesn't chew.  Bad news:  Frankie swallows.

It's been wait and watch.  

Fruits been falling for three weeks.  Frankie isn't dead yet.

Still not taking chances.  I am outside sweeping, raking, picking up the fruit all day long.  I have to be vigilant.  Frankie is.

Frankie does his morning bask and a quick walk around the yard, He skips grazing and heads straight under the Loquot Tree skulking about for bits of fruit dropped by birds.

Skulking. 

He doesn't find any whole fruits.  I've grabbed those.

I even recruited neighbors to check for fallen fruit under the Loquot Tree while I was out of town.  

I thought the small Persimmon tree in our yard in Birmingham was trouble.  It's nothing compared to the full grown Loquot Tree.  I hate to consider chopping it down.  The Loquot fruit is delicious!   Like a pear only much sweeter.  

Frankie thinks so.  

Free Loquots to anyone who wants to come over and harvest it themselves.  Bring a carrot for Frankie and help yourself to free Loquots.

------

Special thanks to neighbors Denise and Renee, vigilant Frankie guardians.  

The Levitation Solution

Frankie and I used to go everywhere.  We would go to the park, Petsmart, Petco, to pet parades, to schools and day care centers, and libraries, more parks, art festivals, around the block, down the street and wherever we wanted to go......when Frankie was smaller.

I would pick up Frankie, toss him into the car and off we went on many adventures.

When Frankie got bigger, about 45 pounds or so, we still went places but I had to use more muscle to get Frankie in and out of the car.  The bigger he got the more difficult he was to lift so I relied on more and more on genius and ingenuity to get him places because let's face facts, a woman over 50 has a few physical limitations.

I got lucky meeting a fellow turtle lover and near-by neighbor, Greta, who became a fellow tortoise traveler and partner-picker-upper of Frankie.  Frankie above the 50 pound mark was bigger and heavier but Greta make it possible for Frankie and me to get to our favorite destination.

For better or worse, when Greg, Frankie and I moved our household to Mobile things changed drastically.  Frankie broke the 100 pound mark and I found without a close-by Greta or the always-working Greg, Frankie and I were just not going to very many places. Since I couldn't just float Frankie into the car we just couldn't go anywhere.

But the last few days, boy-oh-boy, we got to go places.  Frankie and I packed up and drove to B&B Pet Store, and then we drove to the park, and then we drove to the park again!  Frankie spent time basking in the sun and grazing on some tasty green grass and weeds, and walking all over the pet store....over and over and over.  I kept by Frankie's side and answered the top 20 Frankie Questions.

So exciting!  I am already planning more outings.

You are asking just how this 55+ woman is getting Frankie in and out of the car.  No, the State of Alabama is still not allowing me to marry a second husband who can pick up Frankie when ever I need, and of course, Greg still works a lot.  It's not a neighbor stepping up as Frankie co-carrier.

Nope, Frankie is getting in and out of the car all by himself....with a bit of clever thinking, lots of measuring, hunting out some good sales, two dog ramps, and a bit of woodworking.

.....voila!  Frankie Ramp!

Returning home, Frankie heads down the ramp.

The added wood platform keeps the ramp from separating or sliding.

Frankie's getting really good at using his ramp.

The ramp should last another 15 Frankie pounds before I have to make adjustments or add supports.  I may have to rethink the whole thing again if Frankie gets too big.  Always possible with a growing sulcata tortoise.

I subscribe faithfully to the number one successful sulcata keeper rule:  Anticipate the next pound.

Right now its time to make some travel plans:  visit the new PetSmart and Petco, take a trip to the downtown historical park, and attend the Mobile Walk for Autism.  So many places to travel, so many grasses to graze, so many Frankie questions to answer.  We can't wait!  

Sherlock and the Case of the Red Foot Tortoise

The Internet story of the red foot tortoise found alive in a box 32 years after it disappeared is so amusing to me that I thought I would add a bit of logic to this....as in Sherlock Holmes logic.

Hold on to your shells. We are going to use some smarts.

The story of the turtle is a riddle that today may need a genius thinker to solve because, regretfully, a lot of people think that what they read on the internet is true. Um, let me just repeat that: a lot of people think everything on the internet is true.

A lot of Internet stories are written as enhanced reality, or something fixed up to be more interesting. But let's let Sherlock look at the facts.

A family had a red foot tortoise. It "ran away" or "disappeared." The turtle was not located nor re-appear for the rest of the time the children lived in the house. The children grow up and move out of the house. These are accepted as fact.

Other facts: Dad died. House was left to the children. House had a lot of stuff left inside. All accepted as fact.

Children clean out the house but there is no mention of any turtle husbandry equipment when they clean up the house. A neighbor makes mentions of the turtle in the trash the children toss from the house. A turtle is found mingling within boxes once inside the house.

Now, here is the jump to fiction. Child says turtle must be the one lost 32 years ago.

Sherlock would say, “Well, first, let’s look at all the facts.”

Sherlock would ask, "Where is your proof that this is the same turtle? Do you have pictures to compare it to? Did a veterinarian attest that this turtle is 32 years old? Can a herpetologist verify that this turtle is the same species you had before? Can either the veterinarian or the herpetologist verify that the turtle’s physical condition is that of a turtle that lived in a house unseen for 32 years without any care?

Sherlock would then say, "You are an idiot."

Okay, Sherlock wouldn't say the kid was an idiot. That was me saying the kid was an idiot. Sherlock would be kind and say, the turtle is not the same turtle you saw when you were a child thirty-two years ago.

“First, the children said they did not see the turtle anywhere in the house during the years they lived there with their father. Records kept on the longevity of the species Chelonoidis carbonaria ssp. estimate that they can live from 30 to 50 years, depending on scientific literature and amateur observation. It is also obvious that this family were but amateur keepers.”

“At this point,” Sherlock said, “I would turn the conversation to Julie Maguire at Long Island Turtle Rescue to attest to the condition of turtles who are kept in captivity by amateur keepers. She would, as would any turtle expert, I am sure, attest that less than optimal conditions greatly shortens a turtle’s life and renders gross physical proof of inadequate husbandry.”

“Looking at the photos attached often to this Internet story, one can clearly see that the turtles in the pictures are not of the turtle lost 32 years ago. A turtle kept with inadequate husbandry would not look healthy. If the present turtle is a different turtle, as I believe it is, it still would not look very healthy as they children did not report the presence of any turtle husbandry equipment.”

“My conclusion is thus: the turtle was not the turtle the children knew 32 years ago. They had neither the expertise nor experience to claim that it was. If the children had some experience with reptiles or turtles they may have recognized if there was reptile equipment in the house like lights, vitamins, food or substrate.”

“We can reasonable conclude the father had a turtle in his possession before he died. The neighbor seems to have knowledge of the turtle because the neighbor asked if the children were throwing away the turtle.”

Just because there are pictures attached to an Internet story doesn’t mean the pictures are actual pictures of the actual people or animals or place. In some of the internet article the photos were "stock" pictures. Picture are attached to a stories because people are more likely to read the article. That’s a journalistic fact.

Just because someone THINKS something happened, like the children in this story, doesn’t mean they came to scientific truth. In the case of the 32 year old turtle living in a house without the benefit of correct husbandry (food, water, light, humidity, heat, exercise, security), it’s just not scientifically possible. The children’s own story backs up those facts.

This last weekend a Rapper claimed to have photographic proof the world is flat. Oh, please!

Be smarter than the internet. Be like Sherlock. Use logic.

Grand Gent of the Greenhouse

Because I can, this morning I walked outside and across the backyard in 30º F. weather, a cup of coffee in hand, so I can check on Frankie snoozing in his warm 72º F greenhouse.

That's right.  Frankie sleeps in his new greenhouse...outside, not in my house but in his new Frankie shelter, even on really cold nights when otherwise I would haul his huge shell into my house to sleep in the bathroom.

Frankie is no longer the King of Cardboard.  Frankie can now enjoy the winter in his own outdoor abode, his new greenhouse, in warmth and security.

He no longer snuggles with cardboard.  Frankie is nestled shell deep in insulating hay.  His Kane Livestock pad attached to his back wall, an oil heater near the front of his cave, and most important, a heated floor that keeps his toes toasty.

Frankie is the now Grand Gent of the Greenhouse.

Since the greenhouse was installed a month ago, the beginning of December, Frankie has only spent two nights inside our house and only because the greenhouse had not proven itself in freezing weather. After a few modifications last week, Frankie's greenhouse keeps him safe and warm into the 30's.

The greenhouse solves so many problems.  We can now open the guest room to real humans as Frankie no longer lives in the bathroom during the winter.  Greg can visit the gecko room with no fear of stepping in Frankie poop.  No more mopping up gallons of Frankie pee off floor tile.  The bathroom and laundry room don't smell like a horse barn.  Carpet cleaning with our Green Steam Machine is reduced to a couple times a year.

But I miss Frankie.  Many days it's just too cold for Frankie to walk around the yard.  He spends many hours tucked up inside his greenhouse.  Luckily, the greenhouse is big enough for me to sit in my own chair and enjoy the warmth with him.

So, cup of coffee in hand I head out to visit the Grand Gent of the Greenhouse.  The low last night was 30º F, and confident as I am in the greenhouse, I still want to see how Frankie is doing.

Cup of coffee, and a camera in hand.  Of course.

Walk gingerly across the lightly frosted grass.  Open the greenhouse door and immediately I am greeted with a flush of warmth.  I can't see Frankie because he is deep within his box.  An electric oil heater covers the open space into his box.

The temperature gauge on the wall says its 71º F.  I grab the heat temperature gun so I can check to see exactly how warm Frankie is.  I pull the oil heater back so I can peek at Frankie.

Awe.  Frankie is so cute when he is sleeping.  Hi, ya, Frankie!  Frankie's shell reads a toasty 74º F,

Frankie peers out at me through barely open eyes.  No, he is NOT happy to see me.  What his eyes say to me is:  "I Am TRYING TO SLEEP Here!"

Go away.  I am trying to sleep here.

Always good news, bad news.

Good news is Frankie is warm and safe in his new greenhouse.  Bad news is I have to traverse the cold and rain and wind to go see him....at least in the winter.

Good news is Frankie no longer sleeps in cardboard.  Bad news is I forgot how very allergic I am to hay.

Good news is I don't have to mop up Frankie pee on the bathroom floor.  Bad news is I still may step in Frankie pee if I don't look down when I enter the greenhouse.

Best news is Frankie likes HIS greenhouse.   I can't argue with that.

(If you haven't seen the epic greenhouse build here is a link:  Frankie's New Luxury Condo

First Cold Night

It was the first really, really cold night in Mobile this season.  There was no choice than to bring Frankie inside.

Pretty much Frankie has torn up and outgrown his current outdoor habitat.  He couldn't turn around inside anymore so I modified his inside box so he would fit.  Then he tore out the doors so I had to build a new front.

New cover for the Frankie Cave

Adding an oil heater made Frankie's cave good to 40º F and he stayed outside later this year than ever before but when temperatures headed to the 30's Frankie had to come in for the night.

I don't like it.

Sulcata tortoises who live primarily outdoors, where they should be, don't like coming indoors except for some exploration and furniture moving.  He spent the next morning in the living room waiting for the door to open.

Occasionally I would open the door and Frankie would decide if it was warm enough to go outside.  By noon Frankie headed outside but reluctantly came back inside house about two o'clock.  Frankie was greeted by Pepper, our new kitten, who had questions about the large boulder that farted.

Explain this!

There is hope for Frankie.  We are building a new outdoor enclosure for him.  We are very excited but it's not ready yet.  There is nothing like a 100 pound farting, pooping, sock eating, furniture moving, wall gouging, moving bolder in the house to motive two care takers to get the new outdoor habitat ready.

Frankie got a sneak peek last week inside the his new habitat....

I'm excited because there is room for me to sit with a nice cup of coffee and enjoy the morning with Frankie.  I was teasing Greg about adding WIFI and he said, "It's got WIFI.  We can monitor temperatures and watch Frankie on camera."  Alright! Frankie and I can watch The Walking Dead on my computer!

Looking forward to showing everyone Frankie's new habitat almost as much as Frankie is to move back outside.  Until then...

(In Memory of Bob, Maggie's beloved sulcata who brought us all so much joy. Thank you for sharing Bob with us all.) 

Coming of Age (Dear Waffles...)

Waffles, you're near your third year and thus far think yourself a mere tot of a tortoise.  Behold, young tortoise, this is the greatest time of your life:  you are discovering who you really are.  I am here to walk you through this special time as you come full into being one of the greatest of all beasts:  the male sulcata.  

The male sulcata, in all his glory, stands in a state of sublime glory, a marvel to behold, and a beast to revere.  Beware to those who would not tremble in our glory for they will see their fences fall.  

Really, when you get big you can tear down their fences.

But I digress from this awesome passing of wisdom from one sulcata male to another.  Until now you have kept secret your great glory of manhood.  You need no longer conceal your true self.  You have brought forth that which was hidden, that which now ever forth may be seen and exalted, naught to be hidden again.

Flash!  The alien is loose!

But first I must warn of a mysterious human behavior that perplex those male sulcata that have tread before you.  Yay, though we celebrate a tortoise’s first issue of its glorious phallus beware of the creepy human exploitation of our sacred male symbol.

Cameras are suddenly everywhere!

Humans will exploit your sacred rites to bring forth and exercise your greatness: to slosh joyously in the clean wet water, to unabashedly explore your untested appendage.  Yay, humans will stalk you as you perfect its methods and practice its sublime techniques.

You get no privacy, ever, ever again.

Your instinctive drive to hump all spherical objects and cry loudly your great conquests brings humans endless hours of shameful voyeurism.   Appallingly, your human will share a parade of images on Facebook, Twitter, and other human social media, your feats of manliness.  

For as long as male sulcata can remember humanoids bringing forth offerings of carrots, hay and hibiscus have we known about this exploitative human indecency.   We are aware of their shame.  There seems no end of our exposure so long as we crave their carrots.  

So fear not your sacred duties to breed those inanimate objects, it is our nature so never be ashamed by the humans senseless fascination of our manliness.   

Go forth, young Waffles and hump.  

Welcome, young sulcata male. Welcome.

P.S.  Here are a few of my favorites.  Feel free to check out the numerous videos of me on YouTube practicing with these beauties. Nope, mom has no shame.

Yard Toys

Nothing is more pitiful than a bored sulcata.  Nothing is more scary than Frankie looking for something to ram.

There are things I don't want Frankie to ram.  I am top of that list.  The young Frankie would occasionally bump into me.  Bumping is a very close behavior and ramming is just a few pounds and a much bigger bruise away.

Frankie amuses himself by a lot of walking but he just gets it into his head to do something more.  Last night, before tucking himself in for the night, he thought it would be fun to push his dogloo into a tree.

Dogloo wasn't doing anything at all, not calling attention to itself, and it certainly didn't cause Frankie to stub his toe or any such indignity.  It just existed in Frankie yard and thus a potential for his special kind of suclata attention.

Last week, Annette, a local tortoise friend who owns a one-pound Frankie-wanna be beast, came to pick up some supplies for "Foots" and got to meet Frankie for the first time.  I forget that possibly I should warn people that Frankie can get enthusiastic about visitors.

At this first meeting, Annette saw a very big, large, hundred pound boulder moving at a very crisp pace directly at her, heads up, and very animated.

Frankie saw a potential carrot giver.

Brave Annette did not want to back down because after all this is just a tortoise.  What could a tortoise possibly do?  Right?  Bruise the shins?  Break her legs?  Knock her down and trample her like a shoe box?

I told Annette to stand her ground that Frankie was just happy to see her.  She chose to move closer to me and let me handle the we-move-much-faster-than-anyone-expects beast.

He just wanted a carrot.

So, no, Frankie is not allowed to ram people and so far he has not hurt anyone...besides me.  I remain an ever vigilant observer of Sulcata Behavior.

Give Frankie toys.  Objects to ram.  Dogloo will do.  Buckets are perfect.

Bucket provides hours of amusement for Frankie.  Even when the bucket gets the upper hand.

Lesson:  Sulcata tortoises move faster than you think.

Bucket Buddies

It's ten 'o'clock in the morning, I'm sitting on the couch doing some writing and Frankie is at the backdoor his nose pushed into the glass and his eyes peering into the window wondering when I am going to open the door because it's 84º F and he is getting a little warm.

Warm, Frankie, not hot.  It's not hot until after noon.  Go find some shade!

We've spent quite a bit of quality time together over the last month since his injury.  He's come to expect my attention a bit more than usual.

Since his foot injury early July, and hot or not, I've been his observant companion and caretaker watching his ever move and spending more time with him than almost ever before.

How much time?  Besides the five hour drive to Birmingham and the five hour drive back to Mobile, I follow him whenever he is outside guarding him from further injury.  Every evening I've escort him into the house to sleep, and every morning walk him back outside.

Without fail, I sneak into his sleeping area up to a dozen times each night to see if he is okay and to see how cute he looks when he is sleeping.  I've also discovered that indeed sulcata tortoise sleep restlessly because, due to insomnia, I often sleep in the guest room which is less than two feet from where Frankie sleeps when inside.  I get jump-bolted woken each time he moves around at night.

Last night I woke to what sounded like raccoons tearing up the front porch.  Still in a near-sleep state and not fully aware that I was only dressed only in my over-sized t-shirt (period!), I opened the front door and found no disturbance outside.  The sound instead was Frankie turning around in his newspapers and hay.

Once again I risk indecent exposure to unsuspecting neighbors.  Thanks, Frankie.

I do adore my time with Frankie and he is a good buddy, but I feel like the whole last six weeks were all about Frankie rather than the hubby, the house, my writing, the geckos or even the cat.  It certainly hasn't been about keeping up with needed showers after outdoor time with Frankie in near 100 degree temperatures.

It's nearly noon and this blog has taken HOURS to write because I've been back and forth outside watching after Frankie.

Around two o'clock, Frankie was getting a bit hot so I turned his mister on to cool him off.  The mister felt so good that I sat under the shade with Frankie sitting under my feet.  We lounged around like that for a while and contemplated life.

If I didn't love Frankie so much I would have a lot more free time. 

Yeah, maybe.  But then I would have missed this when I went out to check Frankie around 4 o'clock. 

The last trip outside was very worth my time. Priceless.

Birthday Boy is Better

Frankie is on the road to recovery.  Strike that.  

Frankie is doing much better.  Strike that.  

Frankie is making it very plain that he is just fine and quite babying him, Mom! 

I think he knows it's his birthday so I will forgive just about anything.

Almost anything. 

Frankie antics in just the last 24 hours.

Climbing into the box turtle habitat.

Scaling the barrier that's supposed to keep him in the safe-for-foot area of the yard.

He climbed over the retaining wall blocks of the the box turtle's outdoor area.  He has never done this before and it's been there all summer.  He seem content to sit there so I left him alone.

20 minutes later I found him digging a hole.  Caught him before he dug deep enough to escape.  Notice that the grass and leaves are completely covered with dirt.

 So, he is fine.  The Brat.

 Happy Birthday, Frankie.  14 years old and 101 pounds big!