Now, there’s a face that begs for anthropomorphizing.
Eyebrows raised, with a calm, resigned-to-her-fate demeanor, she must be thinking, ‘hrumph.’ A more excitable species might be musing in swear words. Not the unflappable painted turtle.
The lady had plenty to gripe about. She had meandered onto our walkway, the one lined with landscape timbers and punctuated with steps. And she was stuck.
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