
Another Seven Cedars Farm Adventure!
Jurrassic Terror Strikes the Farm !
- or -
Marauding Turtle Meets His Match!
Jurrassic Terror Strikes the Farm !
- or -
Marauding Turtle Meets His Match!
You never know what can happen to you way out here in the country. Last night I had just finished walking the dog for an hour. The moon was full and still low in the sky radiating a bright orange glow.
As I returned to the house, Mary Sue (my mother in law) approached me excitedly about the commotion that had been going on in the pasture with the cows.
During dinner and afterwards during my walk I could hear them making the strangest noises, almost "other worldly" bellows and moans. Being the farmer that I am, I just figured they were having a "town meeting" or something. Naturally that was not it.
It seems that a "giant" turtle (the largest one I had ever seen outside the zoo.) had been spotted in the pasture by the ever vigilant cows. (Since they look down as they eat, it was only a matter of time before Mr. Turtle was spotted.) They were not happy. You see, these large turtles are a menace to the cows and can actually kill a calf.
Mary Sue said, "There's a turtle out yonder in the pasture. Get a gun and kill it before it gets away."
Being the good son in law, I dutifully complied.
The lovely Bonnie said, "Be careful that the bullet doesn't ricochet off his shell and hurt you!" (That's why I love her)

Realizing I needed something armor piercing, the assortment of revolvers and shotguns were out of the question. It was a real rifle that I needed. Not the cute and sporty M1 Carbine. No, I needed something with some real armor piercing stopping power. That's when I reached for the..."Mauser." With a muzzle velocity of 2,700 fps, I knew that would be the only weapon that would enable me to stand a chance against the marauding reptile waiting for me...out there.

There we were, man versus Jurassic Terror. His hollow, dark deathlike eyes peering out from his bullet nosed head tucked inside his armor shell were sizing me up for "the kill." Razor sharp claws and spiked tail begged me to get just a little closer. He might charge, so I had to "get it right the first time."
Taking aim, my blood slowed as cold as his. The first explosion should have been enough, but he wouldn't stop. Over and over the 8mm missiles of death pounded through his body. Finally, he succumbed to the inevitable and loosed his reign on life.
It was over. The cows, their calves and even my mother in law were safe once more...on the farm.
Mr. Turtle? He was a big one and even looked terrible in death. He weighed over 100 pounds and was a bitch to lift.
Bonnie's concern (bless her heart) that the bullets may ricochet and harm her great white (haired) hunter were unfounded. Old Mr. Turtle had some shell ventilations the size of saucers.
So, dear reader, you may ask yourself, "What on earth is there to do on the farm?"
"One never knows until it's time to do it."
That's it from the wonderful world of Blanch. Tomorrow, I'll have to put on my shoes, leave the farm and head once more into the big city for a place where, like the farm, the excitement never ends.
(Author's Note: This is the famous "Turtle Story." This delightful slice of life was written almost 10 years ago. )
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