Bosco the Turtle

One summer day, Erin and I were making our way to Dodge Lake for a swim when we stumbled upon something incredible — a snapping turtle. And not just any turtle — he was huge. Well, huge to us, anyway. His shell was dark and weathered, and his claws looked like something out of a dinosaur movie. We were both completely fascinated.

After a quick discussion (and some excited squealing), swimming was officially off the agenda. We had more important things to do. We scooped up the turtle as carefully as two kids could and marched straight back to Grandma Cooper’s cottage.

We burst through the door, practically yelling over each other.
“Grandma! Grandma! Look what we found!”

Grandma, who was sitting by the window with her knitting, gave us the kind of calm but curious look that only grandmas can pull off.
“What’s all the ruckus about?”

“Look, Grandma! Look!” we said, holding up the turtle like we’d just discovered treasure.

Grandma leaned over, peered down at the turtle, and smiled.
“Well, that there is a mighty fine turtle,” she said. “But he’s got no business being in the house.”

“Aw, Grandma, can we keep him?” we both begged, our voices in perfect unison.

Grandma sighed, that knowing kind of sigh that told us we had a chance.
“You can keep him if you take care of him,” she said. “But he’s gonna have to stay outside.”

Success!

Grandma shuffled off to the pantry and returned with a worn-out cardboard box.
“Here you go,” she said, handing it to us. “Now get that thing outside.”

We decided to name him Bosco. He just looked like a Bosco.

For the next couple of days, Bosco became our whole world. We tried feeding him lettuce, leaves, apples — pretty much anything we thought a turtle might eat. He mostly just stared at us like we were crazy. Every morning, we’d wake up eager to see what Bosco was up to. He didn’t do much, but that didn’t matter. He was our turtle.

But after a few days, our attention started to drift back toward swimming. Bosco wasn’t exactly high-energy entertainment. So, off we went to Dodge Lake.

When we got home later that afternoon, we went straight to check on Bosco.

And he was gone.

“Bosco’s gone!” Erin shouted.
“What happened?”

We ran inside, practically tripping over each other as we tried to explain to Grandma what had happened.

“He must have escaped!” we said breathlessly.

Grandma, always calm, said, “Well, go look for him.”

So off we went, searching under the porch, by the trees, and even near the edge of the lake. But Bosco was nowhere to be found.

That night at dinner, Grandma served soup. It smelled… different. And it tasted even stranger. The meat was chewy, with a bitter taste that made us wrinkle our noses.

“What kind of soup is this?” Erin whispered.

“It’s not chicken,” I said, chewing slowly.
“It’s not beef either,” Erin added, his eyes widening.

We kept making weird faces at each other across the table, trying not to laugh.

Grandma gave us a sharp look.
“You two settle down and eat,” she said. “Come on now, finish up.”

We managed to finish, still exchanging looks but keeping quiet. After dinner, we helped Grandma clean up and went to bed with full but slightly unsettled stomachs.

The next morning, I was tossing a bread wrapper into the wastebasket when something caught my eye. A large, hard object — dark and curved.

My heart stopped.

Bosco’s shell.

“GRANDMA!!”