October 3, 2026 / 3 Minute Read

my turtle ran away

Are you done laughing yet?

Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

You know it’s rude to make fun of people’s trauma, but I guess I’ll let it slide.

This tragic event occurred about four years ago, right after I graduated from college.

I’d gotten a job offer that wasn’t slated to start until September, so instead of heading home, I decided to spend the summer in Atlanta.

One day while out on the town, I noticed a raggedy pop-up stand on the corner of MLK Drive.

Some dude had about ten red-eared sliders stacked neatly in rows on a rusty table; lo and behold, he’d established his own little turtle emporium!

I was going through a lot of mental turmoil during this period and prone to making impulsive decisions, so on a whim I decided to buy a $25 street turtle.

I named him Grim.

Foreshadowing anyone?

I kept him in the bucket he came in for the first few days while I furiously researched turtle best care practices.

I made sure to get him the correct food (dried worms, yuck), place him in the sun, and do all the other things semi-responsible turtle owners do.

After a few weeks, I realized Grim’s starter home was a little small, even though he hadn’t grown an inch yet, and decided he needed a biome with more space.

I was the opposite of financially savvy at this time, so instead of investing in a reputable tank from a local pet store, I decided to create my own makeshift turtle paradise out of a tin foil baking sheet, rocks I scavenged from one of the houseplants, and tap water.

I decided to place this improvised habitat on the back patio, thinking it would be an optimal spot for Grim to get enough fresh air and sunlight.

I truly thought he loved his new home and that we were becoming the best of friends, but a few days later, I discovered how that bastard turtle really felt.

After returning from an outing, I went out to feed Grim, and guess what?

HE WAS GONE!!

GRIM WAS GONE!!!

I became frantic and immediately began scanning the backyard like a bloodhound.

It was, of course, huge and filled with heavy foliage, tall grass, and a deep ravine with a small stream at the bottom.

Sooooo safe to say I had about a 0% chance of finding him, even in broad daylight.

Damn your natural turtle camouflage Grim!!!

I’ll admit, I didn’t spend all that long searching; literally like looking for a needle in a haystack.

A needle the same color as the hay.

I also realized I wasn’t emotionally, physically, or financially capable of taking care of a pet at the moment, especially one that could have outlived me.

I mean seriously, turtles can live to be like a hundred; what was I thinking??

It was probably better this way for both of us.

Apparently Grim thought he’d be better off alone in the wild.

Honestly, I don’t blame the guy.

I know baby turtles have a low survival rate, but I really hope he made it to the stream at the bottom of that ravine (and survived the fall).

Perhaps it led to a nice freshwater pond where he’ll spend his life in blissful peace. Basking in the Georgia sun, free from his manic, 22-year-old overlord.

Or maybe it led to a sewer, and Grim is slowly growing to the size of a car, lurking in the murky, excrement-filled depths, waiting to burst forth and terrorize metro Atlanta like in those old Alligator movies!!

If that happens, I neglect to take responsibility for Grim’s killing spree, though I would like to be included in any potential film adaptations of the event.  

Anyway, that’s the story of how my turtle ran away.

Bye Chance!