Backyard invasion

Today, Frankie and I are sitting under the porch and witnessing another backyard invasion...of a better kind.  Months following the Alabama tornadoes we enter the final phase of yard clean-up.  We are not complaining.  The clean up of a yard is very low on the tornado recovery list....unless you are a tortoise who wants his yard back.

When our tree team arrived the crew leader warned all the other men to watch out for the baby turtle that is in the yard....ha ha!  Um, more like a monster!

"How big?" They all asked.

I say, "How about, you-can't-miss-him Big"

"Really?"

Really.

On cue walks out the 85 pound beast of the yard, master of the grass, the one whom you offend by your imagined brute-presence.  You may think you are tough.  Frankie is tougher.

But fear not, the quick moving shell is a vegetarian and not looking for a tennis shoe breakfast.

Frankie takes a quick look at the men in jeans and decides it's just too hot to show them who is master of the yard.  I don't think the guys questioned who is master of the yard, they are just shell shocked.

I love hiding under the porch with Frankie watching the backyard activity of a bunch of men who spend the next 30 minutes discussing the biggest dang turtle they've ever seen.  ....have I warned the guys that Frankie has a web-cam?   Watching the web cam one would catch the men seeking glimpses of Frankie every time they walk by the patio.

Frankie knows these are strangers.  Frankie recognizes people.  He knows me.  He knows Greg.  He knows visitors.  He knows when he is being introduced.

Greg's mother, Fran, is here for the week spending time with us.  When she met Frankie, his regard towards her was simply amazing.  There was no distant consideration of what she was doing in the yard as Frankie did with the tree men.  Oh, no.  Frankie came right up to Fran, stretched up his neck just as high as he could, his eye's brightly shiny.  She was very welcome in his yard.

When it comes to sulcata language it's all in the shell and the eyes.

Back to the yard.  Frankie is sitting under the porch, his back shell toward the crew and head turned away.  Now and again he will turn his head but mostly he is listening intently to the going on's of the men.  Frankie's eyes are not fully open but instead shifting to and fro.  He is on alert.

If those rolling logs put down feet, Frankie will be ready for them.

If that roaring chainsaw tries to take up residence, there will be trouble.

Suddenly, Frankie gives me a Big Frankie Yawn.  Mom has things under control.  Wake me up, will ya Mom, if there's any butt kicking to do.  Until then.  I'm taking a nap. 

Poop-elation!

Day two of poop-elation at my house.  Okay, so you have to own a sulcata tortoise to understand what poop-elation means and how it feels after sick Frankie for 10 plus days.

Ten days of sad, miserable, I-don’t-want-to-do-anything, no-pooping sulcata is a sign of big trouble.  This results in a very expensive visit to Frankie’s veterinarian and a tell-all x-ray starring poop with stage fright (….no, that’s not right), I mean poop with a refusal to show it’s ugly face because the story it tells may just be a tragedy.  This was followed by a week of daily medicine, hours of Frankie soaking in pool and rain (his preferred choice of soaking), and enough cactus pads to keep a local Hispanic grocery market in business.

              

The poop diary over those days was bleak.  The average sulcata poop dump on a typical summer day should count more than 10 very generous fibrous poops.  Frankie was eeking out maybe one to two each day.  Poop dissection revealed lots of leaf litter, pine needles and an occasional rock:  items that should not be in happy sulcata poop.

But yesterday, a breakthrough!  The otherwise would be miserable Frankie was a mighty proud producer of five large morning poops.   And just to prove there was no outside donor Frankie produced one more with me as a witness.  I did my happy-poop tap dance.  The poop dissection revealed 100% pure indigestible fibrous grass remains.  I became a backyard cheer leader. 

The rest of the day Frankie spend walking, grazing, relaxing as I smiled from the sidelines.  Big sigh of relief.  Frankie is going to be okay.  I can afford to pay for Greg’s birthday present (he already bought it). 

…..but maybe I am getting too far ahead.  After all, tortoises are slow to get sick and even slower to get well.  I’ve already announced to everyone about Frankie’s 5 poop delivery and there is a chance it’s not over yet…..

Oh, but this morning, another big pile of Frankie poop!  Whooooooo hooooooo!  Leann happy dance.  Happy, happy, happy!  Poop dissection reveals very warm, summer green, all grass fiber contents complete with fresh as Frankie’s butt aroma.  Whooooo hoooo!

Frankie, looking at me from under the patio, looks annoyed at my behavior.  Then I notice that he has pushed his Dogloo from its original spot.  And the blue pool that was full of water yesterday is empty and crumbled like a napkin.  Across the yard I spot the old grey plastic chair that was by the gate yesterday.  The chair has a new crack across the seat.

Whoooooooo hooooooo!  Frankie the descruction-antor is back!!!!   

Not feeling so good

Frankie is not feeling so good. 

It started about a week ago during a heat wave. Frankie brumated on the hottest days. He stayed in his enclosure not bothering to come out to graze or walk which is not so unusual during the hot days. But even in the evening when he would usually come out, he stayed inside.

Then the weather improved, cloudy skies and lower temperatures. Frankie failed to exit his abode. This is unusual. Frankie would usually take advantage of a break in the weather. He would head out for as long as possible to make up for missing days grazing and walking.

I dragged his shelled-self out of his enclosure one evening since his abode needed a poop-mucking after a weeks worth of Frankie offerings.  As soon as he abode was poop free, he went right back in.  I was suspicious. 

The next day, Frankie began marathon visits to his pool. A ten minute soak would advance to a thirty minute soak, and finish around an hour. Usually, Frankie is fan of short soaks. He is more like a drink-n-spill, a poop-n'-go, or a pee-n'-go kind of fellow. Suddenly he acted more like an aquarium turtle than a land tortoise. Water is good for sulcata and soaking is good for a sulcata but an all-day pool party is out of the norm for Frankie.

And then it rained. He interrupted his burmating for sit in the rain. Regardless of how miserable he felt he chose to sit in the rain rather seek shelter. Then it dawned on me that he was soaking in the rain. I've heard of this. The minute it starts raining, sulcata head out into the rain. Sulcata are taking advantage of the rain. Now I understand Frankie's insatiable love of rain.

So here is Frankie, double soaking: in his pool and in the rain. He just had to be waterlogged.

It was a few days into all this that I did take him to his his doctor. I had too. After watching a non-normal Frankie, brooding around and looking sad, I administered the sulcata wellness test: offer Frankie a carrot, his favorite treat.

Frankie turned it down. Uh, oh. So I did the Just-How-Sick-Is-The-Sulcata-Test. I offered him a small bit of banana. Frankie turned it down. 

Oh, shells! This is bad.

Into the house to make an urgent appointment with Dr. Atlas. At the veterinarian clinic, the usually exploring, lets-move-the-reception-room-furniture-the-way-I-like-it Frankie sat in a corner. A third ominous sign.

Dr. Atlas took the history: lethargic even when during good weather, reduce poop output, increased brumation, refusing favorite treat, refusing banana.

Dr Atlas took out some land tortoise food and put it down in front of Frankie. Frankie smelled at it and then ate it. When he was finished, Frankie went back into the corner.

“He is eating,” Dr Atlas says.

“Well yeah. But he isn't chasing you around the room trying to get more.”

Dr. Atlas considers this. “There is that.”

Frankie gets an x-rays which revel he has bowels full of poop and “substances”. “Substances” would be non-sulcata approved food items that sulcata eat just to prove they can and do eat anything. The good news is there is no nails, sticks, rocks or plastics. He has no gas bubbles in his intestines which is also good news. But he has lots to pass, and pass it must before Frankie will feel better.

Doctors orders: Take 7 each tabs of Metoclopramide/Reglan each day. Feed aloe vera, cactus plants or any sulcata safe laxative plants and lots of grass and hay. I am ordered on Poop Watch: how many, what is in them.

So Frankie goes home to begin the road to wellness. I go home to start Poop Patrol. Yep, I look through each and every fresh poop looking for the right stuff and wrong stuff. I think Shakespeare said something like “Out, damned poop” in Macbeth, or maybe that was spot or blood, but the point is Sulcata stink hangs on like grass stains white cotton. Thirty minutes later and three soapy hand washings and I can still smell Frankie butt on my hands.

So besides Poop Watch, begins the daily monitor Frankie's behavior: sleep, walking, soaking.

It's a roller coaster. Frankie has better moments of the old walking and grazing fool which is a relief to me. But the other moments are still there.

I'll visit him under the porch and he will just look like the most miserable feeling sulcata in the world: eye semi-open, head hanging, thinking of pooping but nothing happens. He feels so bad he just wants me to sit by him and rub his shell. Not exactly big-sulcata boy stuff but it seems to put him a bit at ease.

If he manages a few poops, he feels like a trillion bucks (inflation). Off Frankie goes to graze and walk around his yard.

On day 7 of Frankie not feeling good, and he is still not feeling good. No poops in the morning. Lots of time in the pool. Lots of sleep under the patio. Miserable sad looking Frankie.

So I sit under the patio with Frankie hoping for poop.

When a sulcata get's sick, recovery is slow. It just takes time. It's up and down, feeling good then feeling bad. Unlike humans, Sulcata tend to take just as long to get well as they do to get sick. It is usually not just something that happens over night. And so an illness may take a while to show up on Frankie's face, or poops, or lack of. 
 

Frankie is miserable. I am miserable. Frankie can't wait to get better. I can't wait for Frankie to get better. It's watch and wait.