Oops, Sorry Cheryl, My Pet Hedgehog is Loose in Your House

Haha just kidding. I mean, he did escape and roam at large (I'm not sure how long because I was asleep at the time) but I apprehended him before any damage could be done.

It's like this. I was walking down the gravel road near Cheryl's place last night after Home Group at Yacob's cafe, enjoying the thick flowery scent hanging in the air and the sliver of mellow gold moon hanging in the sky, when I heard a rustle beside the road. There was still some dim light left, and I could see a dark shape about the size of my shoe (I wear 8's) shuffling around. I've never seen a hedgehog in real life, but I immediately recognize the "thing" as one because the kids had mentioned seeing one by the road not long ago.

As I bent down and got a better view of the creature (or rather, of its quills) it abrubtly stopped rooting around and pretended not to exist. Smart. But since I DID know it existed, I wasn't about to just walk away. The animal absolutely fascinated me. I thought hedgehogs were things of myth and legend (I have Brian Jacques and Beatrix Potter to thank for any previous exposure.) In fact, I read today that we don't have any indigenous species of hedgehogs in the States. Apparently people do keep them as pets.

I wanted to take it home. The Crowe kids needed to see this. I wanted to share my wonder with someone. Plus, my camera was at the Crowes, and it was well worth a picture. Wondering vaguely what the spines were really like and if they were poisonous (no, I didn't think they were) I reached down and gingerly tried to pick up the hedgehog. It immediately flinched and curled tighter, jabbing me with its needles. But I carefully worked with the thing until I could pick it up without too much discomfort.

Poor little guy. He wasn't aggressive, just shy and scared silly. I had a dawning sense of kindredness with this creature...not the hippy one-with-the-universe kindredness, but the kind of kindredness that comes of recognizing your own personality traits. Kind of funny, really.

So, I trotted down the road, Rumplestiltskin in tow. I settled on that name as we went along, feeling it was a stickery sort of name and therefore (ouch!) fitting. I went at a much quicker pace than before, goaded by pricks. Every time I moved too much, my thorny friend jerked this way and that, driving his vicious little spines into my hands.

When we got home, and I dropped him uncerimoniously on the doorstep and fished my key out to unlock the door. Lady was looking with interest by this time, and probably some jealousy as I plopped the Rumple (as I immediatly nicknamed him) in the entryway and closed the door. Right away I got the cardboard milk box-gone-potato bin and put him in it, adding a jar lid full of water and some big leaves I thought he might burrow in.

Then I inspected the little beast. He was adorable. The quills, brown with white flecks, nearly covered the visible part of his body. His face was long and pointy, with round black eyes and a soft wet nose. Even his eyebrows were clumps of spikes, and they scrunched up when I touched him. Surprisingly, the coarse-looking fur on his underside was soft and there seemed to be extra folds of skin so he could move around easily.

Since he didn't seem to be enjoying the bright light very much, I turned out the light and left Rumple by himself. He rustled around for a while, but eventually quieted down.

Eventually I went to bed, but was awakened very early in the morning by a scuffling, scratching, tapping commotion. I'd gotten used to the sound of Rumple's rumplings before I went to bed, but this noise seemed much nearer than the entry way. Much nearer. I jumped out of bed and looked at the clock: 5 am. And there was a dark sort of oblong shape on the linoleum just outside my bedroom doorway. Good grief!

I flipped the light on and returned the errant hedgehog to his box. Then I went into the other room, trying to think of something to put on top of the box to prevent further escape attemps. I didn't want anything too heavy because I was afraid he might tip it over on himself and get smooshed to death. I lit on the idea of two 8-packs of toilet paper on the shelf (Ukrainian toilet paper is more heavy-duty than ours). It would work.

I turned back just in time to see the thorny rump of Rumple disappear over the edge of the cardboard box once again! Minding my fingers, I extracted the disgruntled captive from under a shelf, made secure his prison, and returned to bed.

The added security worked, for lo, in the morning, there was Rumple still in his box, having drunk (or possibly spilled) all of his water. I didn't know what he would like to eat, but I figured he would be fine till this afternoon. I just wanted to have some show and tell. His nocturnal adventures had worn him out, and he lay curl in a ball, a sight of angelic repose.

After photo shoots and sufficient gawking at the Crowe house, we left Rumple in a corner to sleep. Clarky peeped in the box and then announced excitedly,

"The eggnog is sleeping!"

After reading up on hedgehogs via internet, we tried feeding him some boiled egg, but he was disinterested. Apparently hedgehogs are "diurnal" like cats-- they are awake mostly at night and only stay up a little in the day. They eat roots, insects, worms, and even snakes when they live in the wild, but domesticated hedgehogs can be fed cooked meat and eggs, as well as cat food and a little treat of fruits and veggies now and then. They're lactose intolerant.

He is asleep now, and I'm going to take him back to his spot and release him. I'm sure he'll be relieved. I was stricken with the thought that maybe Rumplestiltskin was a girl, and might possibly have babies that would starve to death in their captive mother's absence...but I'm not too worried. Rumple doesn't show any signs of being a mama hedgehog.

He's awfully cute and I'll be sorry to see him go...but then, he wouldn't have made the most affectionate pet with all those quills sticking out of him. It would be like hugging a pincushion in reverse!