Madeleine makes Sushi
Madeleine calls me upstairs in tears:
"Something is wrong with Eric" [Dad's note: Eric is her 'runt' turtle] and, indeed, when she places Eric in the tank he drops like a rock. We gently place Eric in a plastic tray while I search the Internet for 'sick turtle' and 'turtle not moving' while Madeleine sobs:
"He's not dead, Dad. I know he is not dead."
One helpful website informs me that Eric may have swallowed water so I pump his little legs furiously : up, down, up, down. His neck fully extends and he can no longer hold its weight. I tell Madeleine: last rights, and she should prepare to say goodbye and consider a burial patch in the backyard. She refuses, so I place Eric by my bed as she cannot bare to be around his final hours.
Next morning he looks no better but Madeleine has faith. She force feeds him some blood worms and, I'll be damned, he starts eating. Within the hour he has some energy and by noontime he is swimming around on his own.
Madeleine learns a valuable lesson: We will live forever.