My Take Tuesday: Frank the Turtle

On August 9th, my dear third-grade teacher, Mrs. Wikersham, passed away—and I’ve been reflecting on the incredible mark she left on so many of us.

Third grade was an exceptionally imaginative era of my childhood, largely thanks to her. I can still picture sitting at my desk in her classroom at Castle Dale Elementary, going through our daily morning routine. Part of that routine was reciting a poem together. Most were short, rhythmic, and easy to memorize—so much so that I can still recite many of them verbatim today.

One of my absolute favorites was about a spunky little reptile:

“There was a little turtle. He lived in a box.

He swam in a puddle. He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito. He snapped at a flea.

He snapped at a minnow. And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito. He caught the flea.

He caught the minnow. But he didn’t catch me!”

I can still see Mrs. Wikersham’s animated facial expressions as she led us through the dramatic hand motions. Back then, as a sheltered kid in a small rural town, the idea of a real-life snapping turtle felt like something out of a wild wilderness adventure.

That third-grade memory came rushing back to me recently following an urgent phone call at the clinic.

A panicked pet owner explained that her turtle, Frank, needed a health certificate and a physical exam before boarding an afternoon flight to a warmer state. She had called every clinic around, but no other vet was willing to examine a reptile on such short notice. While exotic pets aren’t my primary area of expertise, I couldn’t leave her stranded, so I reluctantly agreed to squeeze them in.

Moments later, I walked into the exam room and was met by the most innocent-looking creature imaginable. Frank was tiny, quiet, and possessed a pair of soft, wide eyes that peered up at me trustingly. I held his smooth shell in my hands, gave him a thorough checkup, confirmed he was fit to fly, and signed off on his official travel paperwork.

With the certificate signed, I handed the papers to his owner and wished them safe travels. As a final friendly gesture, I reached down to give Frank a gentle, affectionate pat on the top of his shell.

Big mistake.

Without a microsecond of warning, Frank lunged forward with lightning speed and clamped his beak down hard on the tip of my right index finger.

A shockwave of sharp, throbbing pain shot through my hand and radiated all the way up to my shoulder.

“Ouch!” I yelled, reflexively recoiling. “That really hurts!”

I stood there cradling my hand in complete shock. Frank sat there unbothered, his sweet, unassuming face entirely unchanged. It turns out Frank wasn’t quite the timid little traveler he pretended to be.

He might have snapped at that mosquito and caught that flea… but in the end, Frank the turtle caught me, too.

Thank you, Mrs. Wikersham, for the wonderful memories, the joy, and the lessons that stay with us forever.

And that is My Take!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM