The Death of Lonesome George
Today, June 24th of the year 2012, marks the extinction of the Pinta Island tortoise. The last of his species, Lonesome George, expired this morning at 8am. This is my final gift to you, sweet giant turtle-like creature. The world shall hear the plight of your's and your species' last days.
TORTOISE LOG
June 21, 2012 (I think)
They tell me I'm a hunder'd and they gasp. Big friggin' deal! My pops, they called 'im Fastin' Fred 'cause he was a picky eater, lived ta see a hundr'd an' fifty-two long years. Harumph. Old bast'rd used to tell me stories of the great drought-cession. Every time I said I was hungry he was sure to remind me that he "went two years without a good hump and three years without so much as a patch a' grass ta call ['is] own." Good riddance, I says. I saw a wee hermit crab today scuttlin' past me. And fer what? Ta find a new shell? I couln't help but feelin' like my pops. Happ'ns more an' more these days. I had half a mind ta yell "the one ya' got suits ya' jus' fine, ya' pipsqueak." I didn't. I never did. Just like me to keep my mouth shut. A hunder'd years and I ain't stood up for myself but one time. Still remember it like 'twas yest'rdy. Comes ta' think of it, 'twas jus' yest'rdy. Just like pops said, "time flies sometimes."
June 22, 2012 (I think)
They call me Lonesome George. Harumph I says ta' that hoot 'n holler. Cain't be lonesome if ya' hate bein' the altern'tive. Funny they should have tha stones ta be callin' me lonesome when it's them who took me from ma' home an' moved me to a d'rn "sanct'ary." Pops always said the only sanct'ary a tortoise needed was" 'tween two legs of a lady folk. And it d'rn tootin' weren't worth git'n to if'n it didn't take year or two." Dirty ol' bird. And I'll tell ya somethin', I'll be d'rn tootin' if them upright-walkin' curious folk aren't pushin' tortoise tail in ma' face. Old "Lonesome George" woulda been jus' fine if'n they woulda let me to myself. I did jus' fine in that respect, I'll tell ya'. By "that respect," a'course, I mean matin'. Short, meanin'ful and seldom jus' like it should be. But, ya' takes what ya' gits. I saw that hermit crab ag'in t'day. I had half a min' to give 'im the ol' stinkin' eye.
June 23, 2012 (I think)
They tell me it's safer in here. No goats munchin' ma' food. Pish posh! Gettin' real darn tired a' bein' all caged up. Cain't say I'd do anythin' a bit different, but Jeez, please. I can feel them bars out there yellin' at me, taunting me in ma pop's voice "jus' you try an' run, boy. Ha! Ya' cain't run 'cause yer a dang ol' tortoise." Sometimes I wish I was a flyin' tortoise. Then ag'in, anythin' movin' that quick must not know whats they're doin'. Them little buggers in the air always look lost anyway. Bunch a' bumblin' damn fools. Everythin' ya' need's right 'ere. Sometime's I wish I was a swimmin' tortoise. Then ag'in ... time fer a nap. Can't nap if yer takin' a swim can ya'? Harumpapum-pumph.
June 24, 2012 (I think)
They tell me I'm healthy. Well duh ta that, I says. Woke up early t'day. Woke up late yest'rdy. Guess it all evens out in tha end. Wish I could eat that hermit crab. More like hermit crap. Feels like rain t'day. I'm 'membrin' a day not too long ago I says I'd just die if'n it rained ag'in. My pops used ta say "A tortoise ain't nothin' without 'is shell. Be more like a big smooth lizz'rd, but slower 'n stupid'r." I think I fine'ly git it. What's an' old bugger like me if he don't stick ta 'is word. Guess I'll be dyin' now.
HARUMPHEDY-RUMPH-RUMPH!!! HARIMBELY-RUMP-A-DIG-DUG-PPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
The hermit crab didn't even notice as he scuttled by on his way to work. His mouth still fresh from the lips of his boring but faithful wife, he hoped that his son had finished his homework. He always had excuses. "Jesus H. Crab! Late already? the beach is going to backed up for minutes!" He muttered to himself as he continued on...
R.I.P. and may you fly aimlessly with your winged-brethren, Lonesome George.
