My dear female tortoise has once again come to me with an urgent message.

You may have read my story about the time she came into the house and to the side of my morning bed to let me know that her mate was outside, over-turned on his back. She did the same some weeks later.

Otherwise, she practically never tries to come into the house.

Moments ago, my wife called to me from the living room: "The tortoise is scraping with her toe-nails against the door, trying to come in!"

Recognizing this as unusual, I sprang to attention.

We slid open the glass Arcadia door, whereupon our tortoise immediately crossed the few inches to my foot, and then she put her head to the ground, scraping my big toe with her cheek as she did.

I knew immediately what she was saying to me. She puts her head down to the ground in this way to drink. I have seen her do it when the ground is dry, and if I give her water at that moment she will drink her fill. Otherwise, she doesn't do this. For her to come straight to my foot and brush my toe with this head-gesture was unambiguously her way of directly asking me to give her water.

It is mid-summer here in this arid desert. Tortoises can go for a while without drinking, taking moisture only from the greens they eat. But even the grass is drier than usual in these drought conditions this summer.

I quickly dispatched her to the patio and turned on the hose, placing it near her once the water had cooled. She put her head down, just as she had alongside my toe, and she drank and drank and drank.

The mistake had been mine. I typically offer water to her when I see her on the patio. It had been a bit too long since I had seen her about, I am sorry to admit.

In her way, she not only succeeded in getting her needed drink; she also reminded me, even if unintentionally, that I had been remiss. That is the part I take away as my lesson.