It has become painfully obvious that our dog, Max, is not the mixed-breed mutt we thought he was when we adopted him a few months ago. As it turns out, he is in fact a full-blooded turtle terrier. Max has found more box turtles in our backyard than we ever imagined could be living there. With assistance from my daughter Carly, the turtles have migrated across the street to Bob's house -- where help is always just a door-knock away. Bob is a tall fellow with a comfortable smile and easy-going way that my oldest daughter seeks out in times of crisis. Whether it's a little sister with a busted lip or an animal in distress, Carly believes Bob can remedy the situation. 'I'll go get Bob,' she exclaimed after a young woodpecker flew into our porch screen one afternoon. 'Bob's a physical therapist,' I argued, 'not a veterinarian.' 'I don't care,' Carly said running down the driveway. 'He'll know what to do.' I was sure the bird was beyond even Bob's ability to save it. Lying on the concrete, wings extended and feet up, the little guy was barely moving. I put on my work gloves anyway and carried the unfortunate critter across the street so that Bob could at least confirm the worst to Carly's satisfaction. Surprisingly, the bird began to come around. Bob was in favor of caging the wayward woodpecker and transporting it to a wildlife specialist. It was Bob's wife, Sally, however, who correctly suggested the animal was merely stunned. At Sally's urging, we set the woozy patient in the grass, where it soon shook off the cobwebs. Within seconds, young Woody had fluffed his feathers and flown away. You might think that experience would elevate Sally to the status of resident expert, at least with regard to animal emergencies. But Bob has retained the prestigious position. After Max recently caused minor damage to the shell of a turtle, Carly consulted with Bob about its injuries. He assured her that it would survive and helped her relocate it under one of his bushes. Since then, the same spot has served as a liberation point for several more terrified turtles. It's not uncommon for Max to playfully sound off at most anything in the yard -- falling leaves or even suspicious-looking pinecones. But Carly has learned to recognize the distinctively shrill bark our turtle terrier uses to terrorize turtles. She has now rescued and relocated so many shell-shocked reptiles, poor Max has had to find other ways to occupy his time. One of his new activities -- digging in the garden -- has my wife threatening to plant a snapping turtle in the backyard. 'Now what would you do,' I asked Sharon, 'if a snapping turtle bit Max on the nose and wouldn't let go?' 'Easy,' she said. 'I'd go get Bob.' Mark Rutledge writes for The Daily Reflector in Greenville, N.C. E-mail mrutledge@coxnc.com. 