One day, Mr. T's container was dirty, and needed cleaning. "Container" is the best word I can think to use. He lived in a big, plastic tote, filled with sand and water in such a way that it resembled a beach. Well, maybe if you've never been to a beach in your life. Regardless of beach quality, it wasn't like a little tiny container. I guess I could've said "Mr. T's tote," huh? Oh well. His habitat was dirty and smelly, so my dad said it would be a good idea to clean it. I took the tote outside, set Mr. T down in the grass, and cleaned his home for him. As I was rebuilding the "beach," my dad came outside and said, "Hey, come dry the dishes off for me."
"What about Mr. T? He's roaming free in our backyard."
"He's a turtle - he won't go far."
"Good point. Okay."
I was gone for maybe five minutes. I came back outside, and Mr. T was nowhere to be found! I even looked in our neighbors' lawns. Apparently he had been to a beach before and decided the one I created was not adequate.
And that's the story of how my pet turtle ran away. I pity the fool.
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