O LORD, how manifold are thy works!
In wisdom hast thou made them all;
the earth is full of thy creatures.
 Yonder is the sea, great and wide,
which teems with things innumerable,
living things both small and great.
 There go the ships,
and Leviathan which thou didst form to sport in it.
 These all look to thee,
to give them their food in due season.
Psalm 104: 24-27 (RSV)
Nope, this is not a Bible commentary post. This is an introduction: meet Leviathan!
I didn’t mean to get a turtle. I hit his egg with a shovel while turning over a patch of garden. His sibling’s egg survived unscathed and got reburied, ready for the inhabitant to hatch and tumble downhill into the lake. His egg, however, got sliced open. Poor thing.
After a great deal of anxious internet searching (I was concerned that I had slit his shell open and/or pulled out some intestines), I chose to hope that the mess attached to the slit in his underside shell was his umbilical cord (yes, animals in eggs have them; they attach to the yolk). Today, the filmy shreds fell off completely, leaving a large pink… well, bellybutton, sort of. It looks like the photos I found of “umbilical scars” on pet turtles. So, I’m getting more confident that he’s going to live. Now, if only he’d start eating…
Today, he learned how to climb his rock to bask on top. Yesterday, he figured out how to swim to the bottom of the bowl and hide under the rock… briefly. He gets carried out to the deck to enjoy the sun first thing in the morning (with a block over his bowl to deter any interested birds) and brought back in when the sun moves off the deck. Empress likes to sing to him and would really, really like to pet him and cuddle him in a blanket.
He’s a great science study for the kids, since he obviously perks up in the sunshine, but quickly becomes less active when his bowl cools off. (No, I didn’t buy a thermometer or a heater. He’s going back in the lake when he gets a bit bigger (yeah, right, says my DH), so he’d better be used to cold water. I did buy a cheap glass bowl and a container of turtle pellets.)
Why is he a boy? I dunno. He just is.
Why the name? Well, he’s tiny. I move him out of his bowl with a plastic baby fork when I have to change the water. He is so not a great sea monster (the Bible reference) or a whale (apparently, leviathan is modern Hebrew for a whale, according to Wikipedia). And I like irony. (and no reference to Hobbes’ book, or later characterizations of Leviathan as a demon, dragon, or the mouth of hell.)
We’re calling him Levi for short.
I just passed his bowl, and he sleeps like my kids: one leg sticking straight out, the other three limbs tucked in, head half out. No rhyme or reason.
He’s strangely endearing.