Home Is Where The Stinky Turtle Tank Is

Stab me. Please. I'll take a dull spoon to the jugular. Anything to improve upon the outhouse-like stench that has inhabited Wookie & Co. What I thought was gag-inducing yesterday is mere child's play today. I put on my ruby red slippers, click my heels three times, and the smell doesn't get any better. I swear, if this is a foreshadowing of life during deployments, I may be thinking twice about the 3 little prehistoric creatures that call the tank home. Not really, but a stepmother's love is only so much.

But let's talk about the 2 minutes of drama/stress/worry/panic that ensued before I agreed to start this project of motherly love.

Big Mama (the biggest of the 3 turtles) was laying in the corner, eyes closed, arms tucked in, not responding to the taping of my finger on the glass.

"OMG, WHAT IF SHE'S DEAD?

"Well poke her with a stick."

"I don't have a stick."

"Well where's the one?"

"It's in the tank."

"Well, reach in and grab it."

"Ewwwww, I'm not doing that. That's gross. OMG, Wook, what if she's dead? I can't have a dead turtle in the house till Thursday? What do I do with her? You need to come home, NOW! This is not in my job description!!"

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP..."Come on Big Mama..." Eyes open. I can hear it now. "Bitch, you woke me out of a nap. How would you like if I did that to you? Not so cool now, is it?"

Okay, so 3 alive turtles, 1 stinky-ass tank, and 1 almost gagged-out Mrs. Wookie...

Thank you Mama Ging and Sheriff for supplying Mr. Wookie with a home-brew kit that contains a siphon and extra 5-gallon bucket. It comes in handy in emergencies like these. And just look at how truly f***ing disgusting the water is. And how? We don't know why. I fed the turtles the usual amount on Friday before I left, then came home to this mess of a water situation on Sunday. Somewhere in between, the "fit hit the shan." I think the turtles boycotted Mr. Wookie on vacation. Too bad it affected me instead. Communists.

And the motto of the cleaning session is: Go Empty or Go Home. So down to the very last couple inches I went. That's what she said. But seriously, the 3 turtles were freaking out thinking that their home was ending up like a rainforest. No, turtles, but because of some freak of nature, your home had to get a thorough cleaning. Okay, maybe thorough isn't the right word. It's me we're talking about. You're getting a psuedo-adequate cleaning. But it's better than nothing, so be grateful, you little shits.

The best part: Mr. Wookie says I'm "getting a nice dinner date for this." Amen.