Last week, I arrived home after dark in company with my first-born changeling (a girl-child of some nine summers) , and as we pulled through a herbaceous border and onto the lawn she perked up and said "Look! A hedgehog!". And indeed, ambling amiably past our front step and into the drive at the side of our domicile was a rather small hedgehog. My daughter, animal-mad as ever, insisted on putting food out for it; though to be honest I'd probably have fed it even had I been alone.
Since then 'feeding the hedgehog' has become a nightly task. Last night we arrived home later than usual and I stepped outside the back door to pick up the saucer from its dark, cat-proof corner and rammed my fingers into something unexpectedly prickly. Yes - our small visitor had arrived for its evening snack and - finding the saucer empty - had opted to curl up on the saucer and wait.
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4 comments:
Stupid me can't spell. Here we go again.
The wisdom of the hedgehog holds up only for as long as you can restrain your native instinct to bake the little beggar in clay and feed him to your cackling brood.
Ah. I was right then. I fear that a demonstration of that side of her heritage would upset my daughter, who is a bunny-hugging vegetarian; though even she has the sense to to be a hedgehog-hugger.
"Hugging the hedgehog". Would have earned you 15 days and a blankoeing at the Felingoch army camp, 1919.
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