Everything must have a beginning, to speak in Sanchean phrase; and that beginning must be linked to something that went before. The Hindus give the world an elephant to support it, but they make the elephant stand upon a tortoise. —Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein

It was an ordinary Sunday—until it wasn’t. After church, I pulled into our lane and was passing my daughter’s house when I spotted him: a giant tortoise in a makeshift pen they’d fashioned. Imagine their surprise when they opened their door to find a 160 lb. tortoise grazing in their yard. And imagine our delight! Living in the country, we’ve had our share of critters. But a tortoise large enough my grandson could ride on him? This was a magnificent first.

Initially, my son-in-law called the game warden to report the tortoise. When the warden said, “You mean a snapping turtle?” Nate texted him a photo. His reply? “You weren’t kidding. This call is definitely a first for me!” Then, my daughter posted the photo on Facebook, asking for help in locating the owner. Within minutes, the reply came. Henry was a neighbor’s pet. He’d escaped from his pen the day before and had traveled 1/2 mile through thick timber to arrive at my daughter and son-in-law’s yard. Relieved that the tortoise was alive and hadn’t drown in his pond as he’d feared, the owner arranged for family to retrieve Henry.

As we waited for the neighbors to arrive, we released Henry from his enclosure and stood on the lawn to watch him graze. We took photos with him. We marveled at the deep ridges in his shell, his massive front legs, and his surprising strength. As the owner’s family pulled in with a small trailer to transport him back, we speculated about how to coax Henry onto the trailer. In the end, my husband and son-in-law secured ratchet straps around Henry’s belly and hoisted him onto the trailer. Then, to prevent him from climbing over the side, they dropped an iron fire ring over him, keeping him contained at the front of the trailer for the trip home. This was a neighborhood tortoise recovery effort for the books.

Henry’s owner shared that he was a retired tortoise breeder. Male tortoises can breed until they’re about 75 years old, so Henry is at least 75. Older than me, I thought, and able to haul his bulk across rough terrain with relative ease. He’s my hero! We learned that his owner moves Henry indoors when the temperature drops below 50. In the house, he lives companionably with humans and dogs. We learned other fun facts: 1) He gets almost all the water he needs from the vegetation he eats; 2) He urinates once a month (BIG bladder!); and 3) He loves cucumbers. After watching his family come to his rescue and listening to his owner sing his praises, it’s clear that Henry is a beloved, albeit unusual, pet.

Tortoises are amazing creatures. A tortoise’s shell is not one single piece, but rather is made up of around 60 individual, interconnected bones. Their shells have scales called scutes, which are made of keratin (the same keratin our finger and toenails are made of). To pull into their shells, tortoises must exhale air from their lungs to make room for their heads. They are among the oldest living reptiles, and many live over 100 years. At 190 years, Jonathan is the oldest living tortoise. He’s a Seychelles tortoise and lives on St. Helena Island in the South Atlantic. Determining a tortoise’s age isn’t an exact science, but you can make an educated guess by looking at the growth rings on its shell.

Some may scoff at having tortoises as pets, but they can recognize their owners’ faces and respond to their voices. And they don’t eat as much as you’d think. As long as they have water to drink, they can go as long as 6 months and up to 3 years without eating. I read that a tortoise owner in Brazil believed his pet had escaped, when in fact, he had hidden and was locked in a room for 30 years. Three decades later, when he was discovered alive, some speculated that he’d survived by eating termites from the wood in the room. You just can’t make this stuff up!

Tortoises also possess a strong homing instinct and may be able to navigate back to their home. If Henry could’ve found his way home, he was probably really annoyed that we interrupted his foray into the world beyond. Henry appeared to be a gentle giant, but tortoises do fight. When they do, they face off with their opponents and try to intimidate them with vicious glares. Then, they make themselves as tall as possible by stretching their necks. Even if they are smaller and lighter, tortoises win the battle by being the tallest. I examined Henry’s neck. My money would be on him in a fight. I’m confident he could out-stretch his opponent.

In many cultures, tortoises symbolize long life, wisdom, and dependability. They inspire yoga practices, emphasizing patience and mindfulness. The tortoise is especially important in Hindu mythology and is found in many spiritual works, artworks, and rituals. In the Hindu creation myth, the elephant supports the world, but the elephant stands on the back of the tortoise.

In Fyodor Dostoevsky’s short story, “White Nights,” he compares a dreamer to a tortoise:

The dreamer—if you want an exact definition—is not a human being, but a creature of an intermediate sort. For the most part he settles in some inaccessible corner, as though hiding from the light of day; once he slips into his corner, he grows to it like a snail, or, anyway, he is in that respect very much like that remarkable creature, which is an animal and a house both at once, and is called a tortoise.

Both the dreamer and the tortoise might “settle in some inaccessible corner” and abandon the world—at least temporarily—by slipping into themselves. From inside their shells, they can escape what threatens them and imagine a better world. We often use this analogy negatively, criticizing those who hide their heads in the sand or a shell. In truth, however, many of us have tortoise-envy. We have only to turn on the news to wish we could pull our heads into our shells to escape the darkness of school shootings, wars, and deportations.

I’m happy that Henry is back with his family. In the moments before they came to get him, though, I imagined all sorts of things. What if no one claimed him, and he was an orphan? What if we adopted him? What if we grew old (well, older) together? For a few moments, I could see a life with Henry, and it was glorious. Most likely, I’ll never be a tortoise owner. But I’ll never forget the day Henry came to visit. And I’m quite certain he’ll visit me in my dreams: an 80-year-old gentle giant making his pilgrimmage through the timber again and holding court in the yard where he’ll feast like a king.