Last summer, when I brought the box turtle home, she gave me a stern talking-to. No more terrariums. No more turtles. If she notices the new turtle, she’ll definitely make me let it go.
“Hi, sweetie,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
Her tone is much nicer than when she left. Maybe she feels bad for giving me a hard time earlier.
Out of the corner of my eye, I cna see that the box turtle has climbed up on top of the basking platform, but the Blanding’s turtle has crawled into the hiding area. If it stays there, I’m safe.
Then, as if reading my mind, Mom looks directly at the terrarium and gives it an odd look.
“That’s not a new turtle, is it?” she asks.