Rex looked like a dinosaur — and that’s why he got his name. One spring evening a giant sulcata tortoise lumbered down a suburban Phoenix sidewalk and stopped a neighborhood in its tracks. Neighbors clustered around, asking where he’d come from, whether he was hungry or tired, and what to do next.
People sprang into action. Someone offered lettuce. A group lifted Rex into a wheelbarrow and took him to Brian and Sara Westfall’s yard, where their 5‑year‑old daughter promptly dubbed him “Chicken Nugget.” The family set about making him comfortable: they ordered hay, dug a shallow pool so he could soak, stopped mowing the lawn so he could graze, and fed him carrots. Westfall posted flyers and neighbors checked in for days as the search for Rex’s owner unfolded.
Rex’s runaway stroll was an adorable neighborhood spectacle, but it also highlighted a broader issue: sulcata tortoises are widely traded as cute, tiny hatchlings yet grow into enormous, long‑lived animals that demand serious care. When they hatch they’re about the size of a golf ball. As adults they can reach 100–200 pounds, grow several feet long, and live well over a century. The U.S. banned imports in the early 2000s, but breeding is still legal, and many are sold without clear guidance about the space, diet, fencing and shelter they require.
Dan Marchand, founder of the Phoenix Herpetological Sanctuary, says people see the tiny babies and think, “Oh, I want one.” He warns that owners quickly discover sulcatas tear up yards, knock over furniture, and dig relentlessly simply because they’re large and strong. Marchand’s sanctuary houses roughly 700 sulcatas, many surrendered after owners realize they can’t cope. Teri Boyungs of Eclecteri Tortoise & Reptile Rescue in Casa Grande says her rescue takes in about 1,250 sulcatas a year and refers another thousand to other groups. Because sulcatas aren’t native to the U.S., there’s little government support, and private rescues are overwhelmed — especially in Arizona, where the climate helps eggs hatch in the ground and a single female can produce dozens of offspring.
Rex could easily have been abandoned to the wild or left to fate, but in this case the neighborhood was invested in his welfare. After several days of waiting and fielding calls from neighbors, Rex’s previous owner reached out. Frank Boxberger had bought Rex at a San Diego pet store about 15 years earlier and kept him in his Arizona backyard. Boxberger remembers tortoises roaming the store decades ago with flags stuck in their shells to draw attention; he loved Rex for his dinosaur look. Over time Rex grew even larger, and landscaping plans prompted Boxberger to move him temporarily to his mother’s house, which later went up for sale. Boxberger suspects a house tour left a gate open and Rex made his escape.
Boxberger’s daughter saw the Westfalls’ flyer and called. Boxberger was already planning to rehome Rex, and while the Westfalls loved him, they couldn’t take him permanently. That’s when Garret Beshey, a plumber who happened to be working with the woman buying the house where Rex had been staying, stepped in. Beshey had always wanted a sulcata but had avoided buying one because of concerns about the pet trade and excessive breeding. He agreed to adopt Rex and set up a spacious backyard for him, bringing along the hay and pool the Westfalls had bought.
Moving Rex had its challenges. He was over 100 pounds and wedged in oleander bushes; carrots and nudges wouldn’t coax him out. Beshey pulled him free, set him down a couple of times because of his bulk, and finally loaded him into his truck. As he drove away, neighbors waved. “Bye, Chicken Nugget!” someone called.
Rex’s adventure is a small, charming story of a neighborhood coming together — but it’s also a reminder. Sulcata tortoises are not impulse pets. They require large enclosures, constant grazing, fresh water, shelter from cold and damp, and secure fencing to prevent escapes. Rescues and sanctuaries in the Southwest are strained by the number of animals surrendered or abandoned. If you’re captivated by a tiny tortoise, do the homework first: these “cute” hatchlings can become decades‑long responsibilities the size of a small dinosaur.