To hatch one unexpected baby tortoise is universally viewed as a blessing; hatch two more and people start asking pointed questions, such as, “Are you running a tortoise sanctuary now?” and “Do you have the horniest tortoises in Yorkshire?”

The answer to both is “apparently”, and it’s chaos. We now have seven tortoises of which at least three are male and therefore – sorry for the gender essentialism, but it’s true – trouble. The two male adults have to be separated or they attack each other and we got confirmation that the previous baby, who hatched in 2024, is also male when we found him trying to have sex with his mother (it’s OK – she is 10 times his size).

We thought it would be cute to take a picture of all seven together last week but within seconds, it descended into violent anarchy with everyone biting and scattering in opposite directions at high speed (tortoise slowness is a myth – they move like Usain Bolt in this heatwave).

Our current strategy is divide and contain: the most violent recidivist has been taken to my stepfather’s yard where the only things he can hurt are hardy perennials. The other adult male is temporarily in the greenhouse. This has confirmed our suspicion that he is really quite dim: he keeps capsizing despite there being absolutely no obstacles in his way and is unable to right himself – I’m constantly having to flip him over when I’m watering the tomatoes. Meanwhile, I am brokering the wayward two-year-old toddler’s adoption and re-education by a lesbian couple who have vowed to try to “raise a good man” (rather them than me).

That leaves the females (serene, unbothered, bankrupting us in chicory) and the two, as yet unsexed, new arrivals. Barely bigger than a 50-pence piece, they are a source of constant anxiety. Back Dot (we took a marker to their shells) keeps trying to escape; Side Dot is dozy and reluctant to eat. The collective noun for tortoises should be a torment, not a creep. Despite all this, I’ve just found my husband reading about Theo, a 40kg teenage African spurred tortoise currently up for adoption, with a furtive, calculating expression. Grounds for divorce!

Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist