As we left church, Emma cried delightedly, "Look! There's a turtle!" Just as we turned to gaze at the cute little 6" turtle, the golf cart that ferries elderly parishioners to their cars zoomed past. SPLAT, right before our eyes. The turtle did not survive. A less agnostic, faster thinking mom might have said a prayer, but I just tried to redirect the childrens' attention and (with the help of Grandma), hustled them to the car. "The turtle has a hard shell, so it is probably ok, right mom?" Emma asked me. "Maybe," I replied, but that turtle was clearly not ok. Poor turtle. The golf cart driver couldn't have seen it camouflaged against the grass . . . but the golf cart would have driven along the path if we hadn't been in the way.
I hope the turtle carcass is gone by next Sunday.
Recent Comments