Meet Rosie. She's my grandmother's desert tortoise. Actually, she's a he. Only, s/he's close to 55+ now, and my grandma's had her all that time, and we didn't learn s/he was a he until 2 years ago...and it's kinda hard to break the habit, and I don't think s/he really cares...anyway...Rosie comes when you call her and will eat our of your hand (though you do have to be careful not to get bit). When I was young I used to fear she'd eat my toes since they were painted the same color as the watermelon she liked so much. So I'd dart from the house to the hammock. And really, it wasn't until years later I realized that I could have out-walked Rosie, I didn't need to run. Oh well.
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