Once when I was out exploring our tiny woods pond on the farm in Todd County by myself, I saw a tiny turtle swimming awkwardly and in slow-motion. It was close enough to the bank that I caught it without even having to wade out in the water. Found out years later it was a red-eared slider but we just called them “painted turtles” because of their bright colors. That one was about two-and-a-half inches in diameter.

Its body, head and legs were mostly green-and-white stripes but it did have that namesake swipe of red/orange right behind its eyes. The bottom of the lower shell and the underneath fringe of the upper shell was yellow with dark splotches of olive.

It didn’t take much inspection to figure out why this one had such an awkward swimming motion; its back feet were missing. Short nubs stuck out the back of the shell. I suppose it’s possible that was due to a birth defect but I figured maybe a big snapping turtle bit off its back legs. Could have been a coon, I guess. Whatever had happened to it hind parts, its front legs were perfectly normal: a couple of inches long with little feet and tiny claws at the end.

Whatever the cause, I thought it made it hard for the poor critter to fend for itself.

It could swim, after a fashion, but it seemed to flutter through the water. It sure wasn’t going to catch anything by overwhelming speed! Without the offsetting action of the hind limbs, the back end swung widely from side to side with each stroke. Its little rounded nubs flailed uselessly in the water. I was so amazed and felt so sorry for it that I took it to the house and kept it in a big bowl of water so it could suffer a slow death under my caring (but uninformed) hands rather than the indignity of some sudden calamity in the wild.

I later found out that I likely caused its demise by my failure to provide a drying perch. Turtles can’t stay in the water forever; it causes damage to the shell and leaves them susceptible to viral infection. It doesn’t matter how many worms you try to feed them.

I didn’t know that back then and my good intentions—if they were good—did not compensate for my ignorance. I wanted to think that a little crippled turtle would be better off under my care. I didn’t bother to contemplate that if he’d made it that long in his natural world, maybe that was where he belonged. And maybe the reason he ended up dying in my bowl was that I just wanted to show off what a cool thing I’d found in the little pond.

Motives are tricky, aren’t they? Whether we’re messing with nature or with our neighbors, it seems mighty easy for us to convince ourselves that we’re trying to make things better. Might be that we’re just trying to make them the way we want them. Sometimes, leaving something alone is the best thing we can do.

Humility often helps wisdom find a better path than the one that led us to the lesson.