Henry

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

I was probably 4 years old when my great-aunt asked my parents if she could take me to the circus, just the two of us. My little brother was too young to go. I was thrilled, both at the prospect of going to the circus and spending time with my great-aunt. She was my favorite person in the whole world.

Off we went. I remember that I was properly attired for the occasion and wore a dress, bobby socks and patent leather shoes. I could not have any happier as we sat, side by side, high in the stands, exclaiming over the performers and animals below.

I remember that when the grand finale was over, that we stood and then walked hand in hand through the side show and concession stands. I was amazed by the strong man. I stood in awe as he bent large iron nails into twisted shapes. My aunt told me that if I wanted to have one of the bent nails she would buy me one. I replied that I was pretty sure my daddy could make me one. She smiled and said that perhaps I could find another souvenir I would like to bring home.

We wandered some more, and then we came upon a booth where a man was selling small green turtles. They were each about the size of a quarter and appeared to be happily swimming about in a large tub. After watching them a while, my aunt turned to leave, but I tugged her hand. I told her that I would like to bring a turtle home. She shook her head. She said she wasn't so sure what my parents would think. I held on tight to her hand and explained that it would be fine, that my father could do anything, and that he would build the turtle a perfect turtle home. She had to agree, and we brought Henry home, and my father did build him the perfect turtle home

He built an aquarium with a glass paneled front. A sloping cement beach was on the left side of the aquarium and a deep-water pool was on the right. My father inserted rods into the cement bottom to formed a fence through which goldfish could swim, and as Henry grew larger, served to keep him on the beach side of the aquarium and give the fish a safe retreat should Henry decide to nibble on their shiny tails. He seemed to enjoy chasing them in a turtle and goldfish version of cat and mouse.

Henry grew. By the time I left home to head off to school, Henry was the size of a salad plate. His shell was a beautiful dark green. His skin was a softer emerald green. Yellow stripes ran down his legs and neck, and two bright red patches graced the sides of his head. He was a handsome fellow indeed.

Henry and I had grown to know each other well. I'd hold him in my lap and run my fingers across his shell. He'd contentedly arch his neck. I'd put him down on the floor and he'd follow me. When I'd stop, he’d look up at me with his black eyes as if to say he'd follow me anywhere, but alas.

As much as my parents loved me, and as much as I loved Henry, they would not care for him once I moved away, and I could not take him with me as I headed off to school. I needed to find Henry a new the home.

He was such a handsome, healthy, well-behaved turtle, that finding him a new home was not difficult at all. One late summer day I placed him in a cardboard box and took him to a pet store not too far from our city home. I'd come to know the proprietor over the years and had told him about Henry. I let them meet. The proprietor lifted Henry out of the box and sat him in his lap behind the counter. He began to run his fingers across Henry's shell, and Henry contentedly arched his neck. The proprietor looked across the counter at me. "His name is Henry?" he asked.

I nodded. "Well, Henry it shall stay," he said.

"You'll keep him, and not sell him?" I asked. The proprietor nodded yes, and he was true to his word.

When I’d return home from school, I would not only see family and friends, I would also stop by to visit with Henry. He looked as healthy and handsome as ever, and you might not believe this, but I know that he remembered me. After holding him for a while, I'd bend down and place him on the floor and he would follow me, stopping when I stopped, and taking off after me when I'd move.

In time, my parents sold their city house and moved away and I no longer returned to the pet shop, but I know in my heart that if I stopped by today, Henry would remember me. I believe that turtles, like elephants, never forget. 

I could tell you more, how while at college, I studied animal behavior, and how I ran an experiment with 100 wild turtles that I later let go. How I taught those turtles to run a maze, and how quickly they mastered it, and how then, after a year had passed without running the maze, they all ran it perfectly, as though they had just done so the day before. This I could tell you, but perhaps you, like me, already believe that turtles, like elephants, never forget.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.