Turtle Stealing is a Shell Game

I have broken a few laws in my lifetime, I will freely admit. Gotten away it with a few times, taken my lumps on a couple of other occasions.

But the law that states you cannot have 51 lumps in your pants when you cross the border from the U.S. into Canada, I have always abided by and always will because I don’t have time to spend 10 years in prison. I could do seven or eight, but not 10.

A Canadian man from Windsor, Ontario, however, is not as morally upstanding as I and so he was recently caught trying to smuggle 51 turtles, hidden in his sweatpants, across the border. Most of those creatures were taped to the legs of this man who was returning home from the International Genius Convention in Detroit (I couldn’t make it this year) but others were hidden in his crotch.

Forget giving the guy 10 years in jail as punishment. I think walking around with a bunch of turtles hidden in your crotch should be considered punishment enough.

I sometimes stick turtles in the crotch of my pants and walk around just for fun but I would never try to smuggle them into another country and to be honest, turtle crotching is just a shell game.

But if, after reading this, you decide to try it anyway, I would advise you to stay away from the snapping turtles. Those guys have no souls but plenty of nasty teeth.

Believe it or not turtle smuggling is a growing crime worldwide. Some of the motivation for this comes from the fact that some of these reptiles will sell for more than $800.

That’s another thing I wouldn’t do. The most I will spend on a turtle is $650. Any more than that and you’re just being ridiculous, in my opinion.

My real concern, of course, is for the mental health of those poor turtles. One moment, they’re just poking along looking for a hare to torment and the next, they’re stuffed down some guy’s sweatpants, about as cruel a fate as I can imagine.

©2014 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.