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.