Can this Turtle Be Saved?

This is a true story.

Clyde the desert turtle had been part of Bob’s family for 12 years, and in the divorce settlement last year, Bob got custody of Clyde and his wife got the two kids. It has never really clear to me if there was an actual court battle over custody, because the obvious but un-askable question is, “Who won?” At any rate, Bob loves Clyde like a child.

My friend Judy was turtle-sitting recently for Clyde while Bob, now Judy’s fiancé, was out of town for the weekend. On Saturday morning Judy noticed that Clyde was dangerously close to the edge of the pool. (This story takes place in California, where, Judy assures me, all homes have pools.) Being a desert turtle, Clyde did not swim, so Judy carefully carried him to the bushes at the edge of the yard, as far from the pool as possible.

Thus discharging her turtle-tending tasks, Judy went through her Saturday ritual of doing her nails and hair, then left for lunch and shopping with her mother.

When she got back, you guessed it: Clyde was at the bottom of the pool. Judy became hysterical. Not hysterical enough to dive in, of course (she had just done her hair, remember), but hysterical enough to run out into the street shrieking, “Help! Help! Clyde’s in the bottom of the pool!” But no one was around (a fact for which I think Judy should be grateful). 

One can only guess the urgency and fear that gripped Judy in those moments. It reminds me of the time when Lassie got her foot caught in a coon trap, and Timmy had to run to the barn to get help, but no one was at the barn.

Finding no help at the barn, so to speak, Judy ran to a neighboring house. There she found a teenager who offered his services (don’t ever say today’s teens aren’t willing to lend a hand), and they raced back to the pool, where the teen dove in and brought up a limp, dead Clyde.

Judy knew how much Clyde meant to Bob, and she knew how to do CPR. Love can motivate us to do strange things. So, you guessed it, she turned Clyde over on his back and started pressing rhythmically. But, alas, after several minutes of pumping, there were no signs of revival.

Judy decided drastic steps were called for. She instructed the helpful teenager to hold open Clyde’s mouth, and she began blowing into it. Soon tiny bubbles started coming out of his nose, er, nose holes. More cardiopulmonary compressions. More blowing. Unbelievably, Clyde started breathing on his own! No doubt his little turtle heart started, too, but really, how can you tell?

But all was not well. Clyde’s back legs hung limp. Now Judy asked herself the heartbreaking question, would Clyde have been better off dead than living as a paraplegic? And even worse, what if he was brain-damaged? She faced the horrible fact that the moments lost while she ran looking for someone else to dive in might have been the difference between an able-bodied and a disabled Clyde.

But this story has a happy ending, at least for Clyde. Judy called the turtle doctor (remember, this takes place in California) and, as instructed, wrapped Clyde in blankets. When he came out of shock, he had full use of his legs and full mental capacity, Judy reports. (Another un-askable question: how can you tell if a turtle has full mental capacity?)

Judy told Bob the whole story, fully expecting a shower of gratitude and something akin to adoration for resuscitating a desert turtle. Bob, however, was more miffed that she hadn’t immediately dived in to save poor Clyde. So, the ending for Judy and Bob remains to be seen.