It was a hot summer afternoon in Louisiana and the sun was scorching the grass with its fierce glare. I was watching a beetle that I had helped to its upright position , as it had landed upside down on the pavement, fly away into the summer sky. I was four years old at the time (I still can't believe I remember this) and I was playing with some of my neighbors, who were around my age. In the middle of a game of tag, one of my friends stopped running and called us to look at something on the side walk that she had discovered. So, being the curious little tykes we were, we all gathered around to see what she was excitedly pointing at. "Look! Look at those ants stuck in the chewing gum! They look so funny!" she squealed.
There was a large glob of pink chewing gum that had been spat onto the pavement and due to the intense heat, it had partially melted and had become this gooey mess. Some wandering ants had been attracted to it and had got stuck on the surface of the gum. There were about ten of them, the large red-kind, all madly waving their antennae and flexing thieir pincers in a vain attempt to free themselves. I felt extremely sorry for them, but my friends found the whole thing quite amusing. They were saying things like "Hey! How's the sticky food down there you stupid ants?" ,and then one boy said "Here! Have a drink to go with it!" and spat on top of the ants. I thought that was the meanest, most disgusting thing anyone could have done. Instead of saving them, they spat on them and laughed. I went home to my mother and cried because I felt so guilty and angry at myself about not standing up for the ants and saving them. She told me that there were plenty of ants in the world and that they die everyday. Thats when I learned that people killed animals and that the chicken legs I ate for supper came from real chickens who hopped around after their heads were chopped off with a clever. My brother explained to me that we had to eat animals at some point or other, and the ones we did not eat were kept as pets.
I have always had pets throughout my life. The first pet our family had was a gog named 'Poochie' , who was a dalmation- alsation cross, which I always found rather amusing, considering the size of the two dogs. I never knew that dog as I was still a baby and she died from a snake-bite when I was a year old. After that, we had several fish in a tank. I always liked the background pictures that we'd put behind the tank, to make the whole ecosystem seem more "at home" for the fish. I liked putting my hand in the tank and allow the fish to nibble at my fingers as it made me feel ticklish all over. These fish belonged to my mother, not to me. I never had a pet of my own untill I was about seven years old. All the previous pets that were welcomed into out home belonged to either my brother, or to my mother. Even my step-mother had a dog and she 'shared' the dog with my dad. I was just allowed to 'look and not touch'. I was especially forbidden to open the gerbil cage or the budgie cage. One of the gerbils did escape. Actually it was a kangaroo rat. He had escaped and hopped all the way downstairs and decide to hide behind the fridge. My brother and I tried in vain to lure the rodent out with Frootloops. We did this for about a week, but that stubborn rat didn't want to come out from behind the fridge and we didn't want to move the fridge in fear of the animal getting all excited and electrocuting himself.
But it was all in vain. We got the smell of a dead rat a week later. We have had so many pets after that. We have has rabbits,gerbils, goldfish (that got so fat we donated them to a Buddhist Temple nearby that had a large pond), parrots, dogs, love birds, hamsters, more fish and another dog. I had my first pet dog when I was seven. I named her Lassie, after the brave pooch who was the first earth-creature in outer-space. When she was three years Lassie died old, from an undetected cancer. I had always wanted to be a veterenarian, but after seeing so many pets die through the years, I decided against it.

When I was about eleven years old, I remember watching a program about marine animals on the Discovery channel. This particular episode was about turtles. I thought they were such beautiful creatures, so graceful and calm. The the program went on to show how turtles were killed for their flesh and their shell. I never understood how anyone could film such a thing and not try to save the animal being killed. I watched a few local fishermen on some pacific island drag the turtle after it had layed its eggs and with a knife cut its shell off. It was still alive. It just opened its mouth and if anyone really listened hard enough, they would have heard a scream of anguish and pain. Then the cameraman (whom I had absolutely no respect for by this point) shot a close-up of the turtle's face and from its large round eye, which was the color of the depths of the ocean it once swam, a tear rolled down onto the sand. I was so angry at the whole idea of killing a turtle. Then the islanders dug up the turtle's eggs and took them to the village and ate them, which disgusted me even more. I just wanted to go and strangle all of them and try and save all the turtles in the world. This was, of course, impossible. What angered me even more was that every species in the world has been tortured at the will of man. I'm no saint. I've killed mosquitoes and cockaroaches. These are pests and I have no feeling for them because they are vile and disgusting creatures, but I still feel sorry for them after I've killed them. I can't help it. I've always put myself in the position of an animal. I ask myself "How would I like it if I was smushed to death with a broom, or sprayed with some lethal acid?"

For my thirteenth birthday I asked my mother if we could go to the turtle sanctuary, which was located in the southern coast of Sri Lanka, about four hours from where I lived. There were several sanctuaries in the country, but this one was the closest. So, on the 27th of September, the day after my birthday, a few of my friends, my motehr and I wen to the turtle sanctuary. There were all these baby turtles swimming around in these massive concrete tanks. They were so adorable and we were allowed to scoop them out of the water and hold them. They were all so tiny and they looked like they wanted to get out of there, away from one another and swim in the ocean. The baby turtles were kept in the tanks for a few weeks and then they are relaesed into the ocean. Very few of them survive because they are eaten by birds and larger fish or get dashed against rocks by large waves. There was also an albino turtle who couldn't be released because she was vulnerable to predators as she wouldn't be able to blend in with the environment. I wanted to release some but the man there said that they were only released at night time. I felt so sorry for all the little turtles and I prayed that they would all survive so that they could reproduce and keep their species from becoming extinct. About four years ago, one of my mother's friends gave us one of her tortoises as a gift. She already had five of them and her garden was too small for a family of tortoises. Thats when Ibbie came to our house. She was the closest thing to a turtle .Even though she was a bit dumpier looking and lacked the gracefulness of a sea turtle, she was one pet that I had always wanted. Hoagland's essay reminded me of my tortoise and it also made me remember the turtles I saw when I was younger. Some people might think I'm crazy because I love reptiles and lizards and amphibians, but I can't help it. Thats the way I am and I don't think I'll change.