How a land tortoise ended up on a road in suburban southern California was a mystery. My dad speculated that the little guy had been hitchhiking his way around the country.[11] To me, he was a most welcome passenger. Over the next few weeks, all the affection I’d been saving for a warm-blooded pet was unloaded on Snappy, who, despite his name, tolerated my hugs with stoic resolve.[12] Sure, he was more reserved than a puppy, but my new companion inspired daydreams about roaming unexplored lands,[13] my home on my back, free from duties. Imagination got the best of[14] me. One afternoon while meandering about the neighborhood, I suddenly realized that I’d left Snappy unattended in the backyard. The search was fruitless. Perhaps he was ambling on a sidewalk somewhere, maybe huddled in his shell on the floorboards of another family’s car,[15] taking his next ride out of town.
I was only about 8 then. Still, I knew that the already-dubious notion that I could be a responsible caretaker of pets was dashed for the rest of my childhood:[16] A tortoise had run away under my watch. But adolescence came along, and it was toward the end of my senior year in high school that I had the audacity to bring into my parents’ house Millie, a 3-month-old mix of various breeds, including beagle, which is mostly what she resembled.[17] She’d whimpered and squirmed in the passenger seat the whole ride there.[18] I explained to my parents that a school friend was hoping we could provide a warm, welcoming home. They frowned as I emptied a plastic bag of doggy nibbles in the middle of the kitchen floor.[19] Millie picked at a few sheepishly[20], glancing at each of us between bites.
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