Turtle Feathers

Stories for Another Day

Long ago, when lizards were as big as houses and turtles still had feathers, there was a very discontented turtle, named Lennie.

Lennie liked a quiet life, with plenty of lying in the sun and occasional nibbling at a lettuce leaf, but all the other turtles seemed to be interested in was racing and competitions, seeing who was the fastest, or who had the biggest shell, or who could eat a whole cauliflower in the shortest time, or who could say the whole of the alphabet backwards.

Lennie wasn’t fast, and he wasn’t a big turtle, and he could never remember if W came before X or the other way round, so he never won anything. That made all the other turtles want to race with him even more, because they knew they could always beat him.

He tried hiding in the cabbage patch, or pretending he was asleep or reading a very interesting book, but the others wouldn’t stop pestering him.

“Lennie! Lennie!” they shouted. “We’re having a tickling contest. We’re going to tickle each other and see who laughs first. You have to be in it!”

Lennie didn’t want to. He was very ticklish, and he knew he’d lose again. He said, “Why don’t we have a sleeping competition and see who can stay asleep for the longest?” Now this was something he thought he could win for once.

“Good idea!” they all said. They lay still and closed their eyes. Lennie gave a happy sigh and went off to sleep. But he had forgotten about Uncle Milo, who had been asleep for nearly two years, and didn’t look like waking up for another two, and who snored like a truck backfiring. At the first loud snore, Lennie woke up with a jump that woke all the others too. “You lose, Lennie!” everyone shouted happily.

He thought maybe he should have a big sign made that said, ‘Lennie the Loser’, and wear it around his neck. Why couldn’t there be a competition for turtles who didn’t want to be in competitions?

The other turtles came around, shouting, “Lennie, Lennie, we’re going to have a rowing race! We’re going to float on our backs down the creek and row with our flippers. You’ve got to be in it!”

Lennie’s flippers were definitely on the short side, and when he floated on his back, water always got up his nose, so he said, “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we have a slow walking race, and see who can walk the slowest?”

“Great idea!” they all said. “Let’s do it!”

Ferdy marked a starting line and a finish line in the dirt, and everyone got lined up. Tyrone shouted, “Go!” and they all started. All except Lennie, who stayed still and closed his eyes, ready for another long nap.

“Hey, Lennie!” Ferdy yelled in his ear. “You have to actually walk or you’ll be disqualified and you’ll lose!” he said.

“Oh, all right,” said Lennie. He started off walking as slowly as he could but he had forgotten about Albertine, who was as big as a flying saucer and who walked slower than a snail with its brakes on.

“Albertine wins!” everybody said happily. “Lennie, you lose!”

Lennie decided he had had enough. Losing was okay, but always losing at everything was just depressing. And then there was his friend, Georgette, who always came second last at everything. She wasn’t the biggest or the smallest, she wasn’t the smartest or the best-looking. Even if Lennie worked out a way of not being the last-losing-loser, then Georgette would be the loserest-loser, and he didn’t want to do that to her.

He thought and thought. Then the next time the other turtles came up with a new idea for a competition, he said, “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we have a slow-falling race? “

“A what?” everyone said.

Lennie said, “You know the big rock shelf over the swimming hole? We all go up there and drop something, and whichever takes the longest to fall into the water is the winner.”

“Yeah, let’s do that!” the other turtles said.

“And this time,” Lennie said, “whoever wins will be the king of all the turtles for a whole year.”

“Oohh,” everyone said. “King of the turtles! Let’s do it!”

The rock shelf was way on top of a whole pile of big rocks. It hung out over the deep part of the creek where the best swimming hole was. They all climbed up to the top of the rock and lined up ready to drop something. Lennie was last, as usual.

Tyrone got a big rock and dropped it over the edge. Everyone started counting: “One, two, three-” Splash! The rock hit the water.

“Me next!” said Alan. He picked a smaller rock because he thought it would be slower. “One, two, three – ” Splash! The smaller rock hit the water.

“It’s the same,” everyone said.

Ferdy went next. He chose a really small pebble, but it took exactly the same amount of time. Albertine was next. She tried a really, really big rock, because she thought a heavy thing might be slower, but it took exactly the same amount of time.

Finally it was Lennie’s turn. Lennie had done something sneaky. He had collected a handful of feathers and scrunched them into a ball. When he dropped it over the edge, everyone started counting, “One, two, three, four, five, six…” They kept on counting, but the splash never came. The ball of feathers had uncurled itself and the feathers had floated away on the wind.

“Wow!” everyone said. “It’s so slow it still hasn’t hit the water. Lennie, you’re the WINNER!”

Lennie never thought he’d hear those words. He was very pleased. He said, “Ahem. As King of all the turtles – “

“Ooh! King of the turtles!” everyone said.

Lennie looked at them sternly and they all hushed and looked at him respectfully. “As king of the turtles, I hereby decree that there will be no more competitions of any kind WHATSOEVER, for a whole year!”

Everyone’s faces fell. They looked so disappointed that Lennie relented just a bit. He said, “Except on Saturday mornings, between nine and twelve.”

Everyone cheered. “You’re going to be the best king!” Tyrone said, and Lennie thought he would be too.