Well, he didn’t actually cross the road. But he was trying. I noticed him near the white line on the shoulder as I was passing with my youngest son. I made some noise of dismay, and my son asked what was wrong.
“Turtle about to get run over,” I told him, pulling in to a gas station to turn around.
“Where are we going?”
“Going back to get the turtle before he gets squished.”
We parked in a lot near the point I’d seen him, and retraced our route. My son spotted him by the side of the road. The turtle eyed us suspiciously as we approached and tried to run for it, but turtles are not good sprinters. I nabbed him easily and we carried him back to the car.
My son held him as we drove the rest of the way home. The turtle didn’t seem too panic-stricken by this turn of events, and didn’t retreat into his shell. He sat quietly in my son’s hands, occasionally paddling his feet experimentally and making my son giggle.
Once we got home we brought in in the house for a minute to show The Artist. We put him down on the carpet so he could pose for his photograph. Okay, he wasn’t really posing so much as giving us the hairy eyeball and daring us to put an appendage within reach of his mouth.
Then we scooped him up again and released him into the back yard. As soon as my son put him on the ground, he took off for the nearest vegetation that would give him a bit of cover. When my son went to look for him an hour later, there was no sign of him. But I’ve seen turtles and toads in our yard, so he should have whatever turtles need back there.