This is the day the tortoises emerge. This is the day Rob takes the three file boxes out of the garage and we hold our breath as we lift each lid to behold the wonder of a tortoise alive and well.
Tortoises are cold blooded, which means only that their internal temperature is not fixed at 98.6 degrees (me and Rob) or 101 degrees (the pups). So when it's cold and rainy outside, they get cold and rainy inside. When winter comes, even a Southern California kind of winter, better to have a big meal, shut down the system, and just sleep off the next six months in a file box in the Hummel garage.
Sadly this year the Hummels were not quite as in tune with tortoise timing as they should have been. I probably shouldn't admit this publicly, but Bob's box showed scars of not a little struggle to get out. He actually pushed upward and knocked over Jasmine and Dribble's boxes. Fortunately, all survived the upheaval and the annual liberation went on without further event. Right out of the gate, Bob began to chase Jasmine, whom he thinks of as his girlfriend (though she seems to think otherwise), and Dribble did his thing, which is basically to impersonate a rock.
At the same time that they're ready to run free, I'm ready for hibernation. I envy their ability to stop, save their energy, and come back rested and renewed. Unlike people, their muscles don't seem to atrophy with lack of use. It might be our imaginations, but they seem to come back stronger each year. Bob runs after Jasmine, Jasmine runs from Bob, and Dribble digs a hole to hide. Nothing lost. Everything gained. Emerge.
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