Day Twenty-seven

In tortoise news today, we've been seeing a lot of Peanut as she migrates around the house looking for the right nook to hibernate in for the winter. She's refusing all food, no matter how tasty (romaine, bananas) or exotic (Japanese pear, raw hamburger). That worried me for a few days, because I think tortoises should be more like bears and gorge themselves before curling up in someone's Ugg boot for three or four months. This year, though, she's having trouble finding just the right spot for her nap. Like Goldilocks, or the Buddha, it seems she's trying to find the middle way. In front of the warm refrigerator vent is too public; the patch of sun on Jackson's carpet too transient; and even though that spot underneath Peewee's dog bed fulfills her requirements for dark, warm, and private, inevitably one finds a dog's ass pressing down upon one's shell, sometimes accompanied by an unnecessary amount of scooting and barking.