One from the vaults. For a few years, I was the caretaker of an Argentinian chaco tortoise which had been smuggled into the United States in an airplane carry-on.
It was owned by a go**amn hippy I mistakenly dated for 7 years. The tortoise was named Astor Piazzolla and lived in a 6-foot kiddie pool filled with pet litter and heat lamps on the living room floor of our already cramped (and already sweltering) apartment just outside NYC.
Ever try to
walk a tortoise?
Closest thing I've had to a pet in my adult life.
Christ I hate me some hippies.