My father used to be a long distance trucker. He'd be gone for days at a time making the whole "Wait until your Father gets home" a little more dramatic. I have no idea where he drove to. What I do know is that he came home with a cardboard box full of grass clippings and a tortoise. We named her Venus after the only girl Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. That was based entirely on him telling us she was a girl. To this day I have no idea if he actually knew or was just full of shit.
We let her roam around the backyard. She dug a hole one day under the succulents. She never came out.
Some time later, let's say less than a year, he comes home with a shoebox. More grass clippings and a tortoise so small it fit in my hands. We named him Raphael. Raphael being so small actually got an aquarium. We got him a warming lamp, woodchips and a fake log half to sleep under. I can still remember watching him eat romaine lettuce, little head stretching out, his tiny mouth getting an edge and pulling a tiny piece away. It was mesmerizing; It was adorable.
For no reason my small mind could comprehend, he started moving slower and slower. I don't remember seeing him dead. I have no idea where his body is.
Many years later maybe a decade, we were visiting the old house, checking up on the renters when they said they found something strange. In the backyard they had set up a plastic tub with some water and in it was a turtle. They had found it in the backyard. Now mind you, this was not a native species. The little shelled demon had gone rogue and run off. They didn't mention if they had tried to find its owners. We took him home for some reason, gave him full reign of the backyard for some reason. Three hours later, no turtle.
We looked around, didn't find him dead or alive. Mind you, we lived in a desert.
I like turtles, but I definitely should not be allowed around them.