Laundry day was a very tiring day for Abner.
F8, 50mm (prime), 1/640 sec, iso 100
June 15th, 18xx
While on Safari in the wild, untamed marshes of Mid-Michigan, I came upon a most peculiar sight–that of a tiny turtle, shown above. I asked my assistant, Dr. Watchband, for a bit of coinage. “Whatever for?” he asked, searching his sweat soaked pockets for a shiny discus. “Why, for scale of course,” I answered.
The good Doctor appeared perplexed as he stroked his golden beard. “I thought you did not bring any instruments for weighing specimens?”
I shook my head. “Not for weighing, my dear Dr. Watchband,” I placed the turtle on a white plate “but for the sake of photography.” I set the coin near the turtle and readied my camera. “You see? Now, when someone views this photograph, they will have a sense of the size.” I clicked the shutter.
“I say, Bully idea, Professor,” Dr. Watchband exclaimed. He walked nearer to the turtle. “I wonder how big the adults get?” he proceeded to poke the turtle’s face with his right index finger. I returned my camera to its case, “I cannot say, but I would advise against molesting that turtle, Doctor.”
The little turtle began to emit a series of high pitched whines, but the Doctor did not lessen his assault. “What an interesting sound, I wonder why it does such a thing?”
“Likely it is the result of your fingers prodding its tiny eyeballs,” I suggested. “Doctor, kindly cease your childish behavior. We are Men of Science, not school boys playing at the creek.”
“Perhaps I should take this little chap with us.”
“I dare say that would be a terrible idea,” I replied. The sound of branches snapping in the distance caught my attention.
“Poppycock,” Doctor Watchband replied as he pulled on the turtle’s tiny tail, it responded with a more intense whine. “I shall take him with us and give him a Proper name. Like Pancake.”
“Pancake is not a Proper name for such a creature,” I retorted. Birds scattered and cawed from the nearby bushes and trees as if in a panic.
“Very well, Doorstop then.”
“That is an even worse name,” I said as a low groaning grew in volume behind the Doctor. “I pray you never have any children. Your first Born would be named something silly like Toothpick.”
The doctor stood up in a huff. “That was my great-grandfather’s name!”
“This explains so much,” I sighed. “Toothpick Watchband? Really?”
“Don’t be silly,” the doctor responded, “our family name was changed after leaving the Old Country. He was born Toothpick von Vatchhand.”
“Because that is so much better,” I fired back. The tall grasses behind the doctor shook. “Now, SEE HERE!” the doctor shouted. Sadly, these were his last words. Well, nearly. His actual last words were gurgles and sputters as a six-foot tall turtle tackled him from behind and proceeded to maul him with its jagged beak.
– Prof. Rutherford J. Hogan
