This was originally intended to be a reply to ghostsniper but I thought it made a good post. Of course, I like old trucks - that may have been an influence on me ... DT :)

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Back around the turn of the century a retired couple moved to a retirement community. Mr. Miller had a 1964 Ford F100 four wheel drive pickup that he was very fond of. He had driven it from Montana to Oregon and used in his logging business and to go hunting and fishing in the Coast Range. He was a veteran and survivor of Pearl Harbor on the USS Oklahoma and a devout Catholic. The residents of the retirement community were not really happy about a beat up old Ford parked along the street and tried to get him to sell it. My brother herd about it and went to see about buying the truck but he wanted quite a bit of money for it.

After a while Mr. Miller passed away and his widow offered the truck to my brother for $500 and he bought it. We used it on the farm for a couple of years, but it had some problems and so it was parked beside the barn, where it sat for almost 20 years. In the winter of 2023 my youngest son decided to see if he could get it going again. Cleaned out the fuel tank, replaced the points and carburetor and had it running. New brakes and rebuilt the front axle and now we can drive it again. It’s pretty rough looking with a brush painted dark blue paint over the original turquoise cab and traces of construction yellow and rusted out bed, but the 292 V8 runs like a top and it’s a lot of fun to drive around the farm.

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Sunday morning I headed west to meet a friend at an outdoor art festival.

Around here, it's a good idea to stay alert for critters that might wander from the woods to the edge of the road. Deer, gators, bears and such.

The only deer I saw was a small white-tail lying dead in the weeds. Poor thing.

The deep ditch was about half full of water but I saw no signs of gators. This time.

I did see a wild turkey strutting his stuff but he was heading back to the woods, so no worries there.

About a quarter mile past the turkey I spotted something.
It was an upside-down turtle, about the size of a big salad bowl, and his stubby legs were spinning like propellers.
He was trying to right himself but he had nothing to brace against and all he was succeeding in doing was miring himself deeper into the sand. He couldn't even get a good rocking motion going to roll over.

That turtle was going to be stuck there, upside down forever, unless someone flipped him over.

I hit my turn signal, eased off the pavement and stopped.

I'd had no prior dealings with big turtles. Well, except for the time one dug under the fence and made a hole about three feet deep in the front yard…but, that's another story for another time, perhaps.

So… I got out of the car and walked slowly toward the panicky reptilian critter… while keeping alert for snakes.
I hate snakes.

The turtle's head was pointed toward the edge of the road, so I'm thinking that I should spin him around before I roll him over so he doesn't trot onto the asphalt and get splattered by the traffic zipping by at 60 mph.

That would suck. Especially for him.

How did I know the turtle was a him?

I was about six feet away when I saw his head and all four feet disappear……ssshhhhwoooooppp.
Sucked 'em right into his shell. Gone.
And then, I saw it.

His skinny, pink penis was protruding from, well, where most pink penises are expected to be protruding from. (Looka dat. Did I manage to get a dangling participle and a preposition on the end of that sentence? Whatever. Could it be I just invented the 'dangling penis-ciple' ?)

Now I am in a bit of a conundrum you see, because I have nothing to touch him with. How am I going to move him?

I'm not going to put my foot where his head can pop out and clamp on my toe. That leaves the other end.
The dangling penis-ciple end.
OK, I think to myself, do it quickly.
Boomp! Spin. Dammit. Not enough.
Again. Boomp! Spin. Success!

Only now, the little pink penis is flapping back and forth like a metronome. Flap Flap Flap Flap.
The bugger is waving at me.

I put my foot on the side of his shell and push to get him rocking a bit. He's surprisingly heavy.
Rock Rock Rock, Push! Foomppp. It's done. Yay.
He just lays there on his belly. No head, no legs.
I wait.
I back up.
I back up farther.

Finally, the head and appendages begin to protrude.
He stands up, looks around a bit, and I cannot help but notice… the penis-ciple is still dangling.
Dragging in the sand. He stops.
He stretches his hind legs to raise his back end and the skinny pink penis slowwwwwwwly returns to its hiding place. Then he ambles so very casually toward the ditch.

That's it, fella. You are on your own.

I get back in my car and make my way to the art show.
It was a great art show.
Not one penis on display, however.

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