Free The Nine Lessons by Kevin Alan Milne

of most domesticated turtles is not very long, that their turtle will likely die soon, and that there is very little that I can do to help. When the parents find out what turtle health care costs as compared to the ten-dollar price tag of a brand-new turtle at a pet store, they usually thank me for my time and head off in search of a final resting place for their beloved reptiles. But once in a while I encounter customers who either do not know how to tell their crying child “no” or are themselves so fond of their pet that they’ll do anything to save it, so I embark on very expensive treatments, which usually still result in a dead turtle.
    In the first week of Erin’s third month of pregnancy I was involved in just such a case. I had treated a large western painted turtle named Fertile, owned by a Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, with antibiotics for more than a week, but its condition was not improving. When Fertile did not respond to the treatment, I called and asked for their permission to euthanize rather than prolong the suffering. Within thirty minutes of my call, Skip Jenkins had left his place of employment and was seated in my office to explore other options.
    “You don’t understand, Doctor Witte. Fertile has to make it! You have to keep trying!” Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead. Skip was probably three or four years younger than myself, and other than the nervous panic that he exuded, he seemed like a real sharp guy.
    “Mr. Jenkins—”
    “Skip,” he interrupted. “Call me Skip.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks.
    “Okay. Skip . There’s really only so much we can do. Turtles just aren’t meant to live in—”
    “What haven’t you done?” he interrupted again. “It’s really important that you try everything possible.”
    I leaned back in my chair and studied the man carefully. He was certainly the most determined pet owner I’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. Skip’s unblinking eyes remained focused on me as I tapped my index finger on my lips. “I understand how much you love your pet, but I really think we need to let nature take its course. There’s just nothing more I can do for her.”
    “Him,” he corrected. “I’m pretty sure Fertile is a guy.”
    “I knew that,” I replied with a smile, though in all honesty I hadn’t checked. “But still, why spend so much money to save him ?”
    “Do you know why my wife named him Fertile?”
    I shook my head.
    “Get this. For like two years—since right after we got married—my wife has been hounding me to have kids, and all along I’ve been saying, ‘Not yet, honey. Let’s wait a while.’ ” Skip couldn’t have known why, but he had my full and undivided attention. “Now don’t get me wrong, I want to have kids— someday. But I just don’t feel ready yet. So anyway, last month, when she started harassing me again, I came up with this great idea. I told her I’d be willing to have a baby, but not until after we’ve had some practice taking care of a pet.”
    “Uh-oh,” I said.
    “Exactly. I told her that by the time our pet dies, we’ll have enough experience under our belt to step up to full-fledged parenthood.”
    “Uh-oh,” I said again, more dramatically.
    “I know. I figured we’d get a dog or something that would live for years. So we went to the pet store and I found this cute little labradoodle puppy. What woman can resist a labradoodle?”
    “A woman who wants a baby.”
    “Exactly! When we made the deal, apparently I didn’t specify what kind of pet, so she goes up to the store owner and asks which animal in his store is likely to die the soonest, and we come home with—”
    “Fertile the Turtle.”
    “Exactly. She named the dumb thing that just to remind me that she is fertile—and waiting patiently for our pet to die so I can make good on our deal. She was practically walking on air when I came home from work and she told me that Fertile was sick. It’s not right, you