Now that Mr Beeks has been with us for a while, I feel I am becoming a little more accustomed to his tortoisey ways. I still have to check where he is when I enter the chicken pen, so that I know whether he is a likely trip hazard. If he is sleeping quietly in his favourite shady spot behind the old window, he is unlikely to come and pester me, but if he is awake it is a different story.
If you have the idea that tortoises move slowly, you are wrong. The lick of speed they can achieve in warm weather is quite impressive. Often, if Mr Beeks is pootling about when I arrive, he will make a beeline for me. I am still not sure whether he likes me, just wants to see what goodies I have with me, or hates me with a passion and wants to kill me. His scaly, reptilian little face may have expressions, but I do not know how to read them. When he opens his mouth wide and makes a strange noise, I do not
When he comes charging at me, I offer him some weeds, a juicy milk thistle or a bit of salad veg and if he seems happy enough, I leave him to it. If he still follows me about, I pick him up and have a short conversation with him. I feel safe enough holding him by his shell while he waggles his legs about and looks at me with his beady little eyes.