Tall turtle tales abound during annual festival

Felice Rood is the undisputed fairy godmother of Sacramento turtledom. Time and again, she sticks her neck out for her prehistoric-looking friends. She's converted her Sacramento home into a turtle and tortoise hotel, hospice, orphanage and maternity ward.

She presides over the Sacramento Turtle and Tortoise Club. She publishes a turtle newsletter and runs a turtle Web site - www.turtlebunker.com. But the capper to Rood's turtle-related pursuits has to be her club's annual Turtlerama.

For the 26th time in as many years, turtle and tortoise fans from throughout the region came out of their shells to hold a big turtle festival Saturday, converging on Belle Cooledge Library in South Land Park.

They sported turtle vests, turtle rings, turtle earrings, turtle bracelets, turtle pins, turtle necklaces and visors to which they had Velcroed little bobbing turtles. Some, namely Rood, wore all of those things at once.

"Hi, little sweet bears," cooed Stephanie Sten, a member of Rood's club, as she peered into an orange tub full of 3-year-old Russian desert tortoises. She pulled one out and kissed it.

Rood's club has about a thousand members, who pay $2 in annual dues.

For this they receive her newsletter, the spring copy of which included further evidence of Rood's turtlemania: "I knew that the raccoon had returned," she wrote, describing one harrowing threat to the 100-plus turtles and tortoises who reside in her backyard. "He came back every single night and I was able to scare him off each time. Who wouldn't be scared at the sight of a wild woman in her nightgown in the middle of the night, in curlers with cold cream on her face running out of the door yelling 'GET OUT OF HERE' while brandishing a BB gun?"

Despite their best attempts to protect the creatures, many attendees Saturday recounted their turtles' close encounters with the dangers of modern living.

Sandy Auernig, on hand for the festivities with her granddaughters, renamed one of her box turtles Chunky after his shell had a couple of run-ins with the teeth of her brother's dog.

"I used to have two turtles and the one we got rid of bit off the other one's toes," said Auernig's 12-year-old granddaughter, Kelsey.

Those, apparently, were the lucky ones.

A card table in the middle of the room featured a macabre display of fatal turtle carnage. A chipped and broken shell was ominously labeled "Dog's Snack." A note accompanying four tiny, dried-up little guys warned "Keep Moist or Else!" A large shell with a hole in the bottom bore the label "SHOT."

Despite evidence of the potential heartache inherent in turtle ownership, many were quick to share stories of the humor as well.

"When they're fighting over a worm they just split it apart and they got an equal amount of worm," said 8-year-old Megan Auernig, Sandy's other granddaughter in attendance. "They go on top of each other and they go over each other and they go down. It's kind of like leap frog but instead it's leap turtle."

On the patio outside, children and parents clustered around plastic tubs full of turtles and tortoises for sale and display. For as little as $20 apiece, new owners were popping up everywhere.

Off to the side, a minimum of a dozen people at any one time followed around an 8-year-old, 100-pound African Sulcata tortoise named Louie, who was booking it across the sidewalk.

A car pulled up, a woman yelled "Turtle!" and two shrieking girls joined the throng.

A moment later, Louie decided to pause, chill out in the shade and munch on some lettuce. Perhaps he was enjoying the mass adulation of his fine turtle self. Or perhaps, just perhaps, he was oblivious to it.

About the writer:

• The Bee's Jocelyn Wiener can be reached at (916) 321-1967 or jwiener@sacbee.com.