Torres: Gopher tortoise mishap teaches me something about the will to live
Other than Gleason Park in Indian Harbor Beach, I don't see a lot of gopher tortoises where I live beachside in unincorporated Indialantic.
So, you can imagine the surprise my wife and I shared while having a cocktail on our front porch about six months ago when a gopher tortoise walked up our path and milled around a bit before moving on. We were even more surprised when we saw dirt being thrown in the air a few days later in the unfinished (ugly) part of our backyard that we never use.
The gopher tortoise was digging its burrow and making a new home. I named it "Soup."
Knowing these beautiful, gentle creatures are endangered and protected, we let "Soup" do its thing. Sometimes we would see "Soup" every day and other times a week would pass without spotting our new lodger.
A few times, "Soup" made it to the nice part of the yard, up onto our concrete deck among the palm trees, waterfall and swimming pool area. It seemed to maneuver itself around the pool with little trouble. Despite knowing tortoises can't swim, I figured the wise old "Soup" knew better than to take a bad step.
I was wrong.
During the extended July 4 weekend, I decided to go for a swim close to 9 p.m. The sun had set but there was still enough light to enjoy a quick dip. But here's the thing: I never, ever go swimming at that hour. I began wading in and was knee deep when I noticed something at the bottom of the pool, below the waterfall. I knew at once what it was. It was unmistakable.
"Soup" had fallen in and I feared, drowned.
My heart broke as I used the net to lift its lifeless body out of the water. I placed it gently on the ground. "Soup's" neck and head were fully extended and lifeless. So were its limbs. It was horrible to see.
I went inside to break the sad news to my wife. She asked me what I was going to do.
"I'm going to dig a deep grave," I told her. "I don't want a coyote or racoon to defile its body. I don't think I could stand that."
She urged me to make sure the tortoise was dead. I told her I would but I thought I already knew "Soup" was gone.
I got the shovel and dug a deep hole. Then I carried "Soup" over and placed it on the ground beside the grave.
It was pretty dark by then so I wasn't sure whether to trust my eyes when I saw its head move just the tiniest bit. Then I touched "Soup's" rear paw and its head moved again. Reflexes? Eyes playing tricks? I yelled to my wife to come witness and we both realized the truth: somehow "Soup" was alive.
We ran inside to do some research and try to find help. It turns out gopher tortoises can hold their breath for a pretty long time. They can also go unconscious when fished out of water. Some websites advised us to "shake" the creature to get the water out of it. But we both agreed that "Soup" was already using up its last little bit of life to keep from being buried. One shake even, we feared, could prove fatal.
We decided to drop this beautiful creature off at the Florida Wildlife Hospital on US1 in Palm Shores. As we drove there, "Soup" started moving just a little bit more. It even managed a soft hiss when my wife touched one of its paws.
The hospital has an after-hour drop-off area that is monitored with cameras. Someone, signs assured us, would retrieve the injured animal as soon as we pulled away.
We left our phone number and drove home wondering if "Soup" would make it through the night.
I left a few frantic messages on the hospital's answering machine over the next few days. We'd resigned ourselves to the probability that "Soup" had died. Then five days later, we got a call from Margie at the hospital.
"Soup" had not only survived but was ready to go home. It turns out, gopher tortoises like to go back to their burrows and sometimes will even begin a miles-long walk to get back 'home.' Luckily I had some leftover planks of pressure-treated wood and blocks designed to hold them in place. I created a tortoise fence to keep "Soup" back on its side of the yard.
At about noon on Thursday, I drove to the hospital with a big storage bin that took up the entire front passenger seat. Sue at the hospital returned the bin to me with a vibrant, rambunctious and, very much living, "Soup" inside.
I took a few pictures then started the drive home. "Soup" tried desperately — and almost succeeded a few times —to climb out of the bin. Only one thing seemed to calm it down: "Love's Theme" by the Love Unlimited Orchestra. (Yes, I've recently taken a deep dive into 70s music)
My wife and I released "Soup" back into our yard. The speed at which it walked around the yard exploring everything again was astounding, barely allowing me time to shoot video.
Yogi Berra wasn't kidding when he said, "it ain't over 'til it's over." But this felt like something more. This felt fated. I never swim at that hour. Why did I choose to take a dip that particular night? Maybe I needed to learn a lesson in resilience or maybe it was to remind me of the sacred nature of life. Maybe it was to not underestimate the will to live.
Consider all those lessons learned.
I don't know why this amazing gopher tortoise chose to make its home in my backyard. But, I'm sure glad it did.
Contact Torres at jtorres@floridatoday.com. You can follow him on Twitter @johnalbertorres or on Facebook at facebook.com/FTjohntorres.
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This article originally appeared on Florida Today: Endangered gopher tortoise falls in pool and teaches me lesson | Torres
