This is a fable about how, in adoption, we aren’t always genetically engineered to tend to the baby we chose • Originally posted on FB, February 6 , 2018 • Written by Lesa Quale Ferguson

Once upon a time, a tortoise longed to be a mother again. But this time, instead of a baby turtle, she adopted a baby hare to raise as her own.

She tried to raise him the turtle way: nestling into the warm sand, basking in the sun, taking splendid naps. Only, he didn’t have a shell. He didn’t need the sun. Her baby hare had fur and energy that couldn’t be contained. He wanted to hop—start here, bounce there, dig up carrots, nibble leaves, and dash into the road without a second thought.

The tortoise felt useless as she could neither hop nor bounce and nothing in her life had ever compelled her to move just for the sake of it. She was afraid—for him and for herself. She wanted to pull into her shell and let the sea carry her away. How could she ever care for a hare?

Luckily, her husband was foxy.

“Come out of your shell,” he said gently. “Let’s have a race. I’ll be the judge. Our baby hare will love it, and you’ll see…you will keep up.”

The baby hare was thrilled. His essential bunniness needed the sprint.

The tortoise fretted. “He’ll get too far ahead. I’ll lose him,”

“Be exactly who you are,” said the fox. “Keep going, keep persisting. I’ll bring him back to the path if he strays into danger.”

The race began. The baby hare shot out of sight, and his little legs bounded further away. The tortoise pushed herself to go faster, to catch up. But it was no use. She would never be sprightly.

Oh, how she longed to retreat into her shell. But she had promised to stay the course. The only way forward was to slow down, to trust that her foxy husband would catch their baby if he leaped into danger.

As she eased into her familiar, steady pace, something changed. She saw the world around her. There, nestled in the hollow of a fallen tree, was her baby hare, napping after one of his wild sprints.

She passed him quietly. He woke with a start and bounded ahead, as he always did. But now, at this slower pace, she could watch him. He zigzagged, darted, and doubled back, unsure where he was going. His energy was boundless, but his path was aimless.

She realized she didn’t need to catch up. She needed to be steady. She could see the finish line on the horizon – this was what she could give him direction.

Her doubt melted away with each step of her deliberate shuffle, her baby hare’s hops, and her foxy husband’s clever trot. Her baby hare jumped into the forest and back to the creek and back to the meadow and back. He needed her to be exactly who she was so he could become precisely who he was meant to be—a bunny with a purpose.

P.S. I love my foxy husband and my baby hare. I am so glad the race isn’t over. We have so much more road to share.