I Am a Giant Tortoise, and Soon It Will Be My Birthday

It’s hard to believe, but next moon cycle I’m turning forty. Should I do anything?

Here on the Galápagos Islands, a lot of my cousins are turning forty as well. (We all come from a virile, elder tortoise who did his part to keep the tortoise population going strong.)

The other day, at a leaf-eating circle, my cousin Mona said that for her fortieth birthday she’s trudging with her friend Bernice and a bunch of other tortoises to a muddy puddle that’s known to be especially warm. They’re going to settle into the puddle for two days and two nights. They got some kind of puddle package—in exchange for using the puddle, they each have to pay a flamingo twenty clamshells. That’s a lot of shells!

I like the idea, but, for my birthday, do I really want to make my friends crawl to a faraway puddle and shell out that many shells?

I could ask some friends to bask in the sun at my favorite local mound. We could share a pile of prickly pears, maybe? But, then, is that the activity? We’re just . . . getting together and having prickly pears on the mound? Is that sad?

Also, will my friends feel weird if I invite only a couple of tortoises? Will they think, Hmm, something about this mound party isn’t right—this tortoise group seems kind of small. Why does this tortoise have so few friends?

Actually, I don’t believe they’d think that. These tortoises care about me, and they’ll be excited just to get together for my birthday over some fresh vegetation that I’ve gathered for the occasion. I’m being silly!

And overthinking again. Clearly I’ve been spending too much time inside my own shell. Should I invite the snakes, too? (It would be a different energy, but maybe that’s good?)

And how about the blue-footed boobies? They’re fun. Maybe we could play that rock-nudging game that one of them taught me recently.

It’s your birthday! You can do what you want. Right? Isn’t that what Great Mama Tortoise always said?

I could also lie on the beach alone and enjoy some quiet time. Perhaps use a stick to scrawl intentions for the upcoming year in some beautiful red sand.

But, if all I do for my birthday is crudely draw my intentions in red sand, I’ll probably feel disappointed. I should do something with my friends. After all, I have achieved a lot in my life.

First off, I made it to forty years and I still have my health. That’s quite an achievement, given how much the giant-tortoise population has diminished over the centuries. I wish to stay alive for at least forty more years. Maybe, one day, when I’m closer to a hundred, I’ll be followed by camera crews and appear in the Guinness Book of Records for being one of Earth’s oldest land animals. Who knows?

I also can retain a large amount of water.

In addition, I have developed a taste for a variety of fruits, vegetables, and grasses, even the healthy, more fibrous ones.

And I’ve found a way to walk that preserves my energy: I lift one leg at a time, making sure to rest after every step. I keep moving my legs, one at a time, and in this way I steadily propel myself forward.

I have so much to celebrate!

I see some of my buddies heaving themselves toward a shrub. Maybe I’ll head there very slowly to check if anyone will be available at the end of the next lunar cycle to get together for prickly pears. Maybe around dusk? If anyone wants to set aside the time now? Just for my birthday—no big deal. ♦