The Hodgeheg

Did you know you can keep a hedgehog as a pet? It’s true! Now, before you all rush out tonight armed with flashlights looking for the little spiky buggers, let me clarify this point: Wild hedgehogs cannot be kept as pets although there is two domesticated hybrid species which can.

I discovered this titbit of information during week, not by finding a hedgepig for sale in a local pet emporium but rather online, after I had Googled, “Is March too early for hedgehogs to come out of hibernation?”

The answer to that query was no, although as with pretty much everything else about here, it’s weather dependent.

The reason I was Googling anything at all, as you might have guessed, was because a hedgehog appeared in our garden on Wednesday night, shuffling along like a man who was either supremely hungover or had been sleeping for the past four months – or possibly both.

I was standing on a large stone in the garden looking up into the night sky when a rustling started and because my torch could pick up Waffle away by the ditch, I knew the sound wasn’t being created by His Hairyness.

Reflexively, I shone my light in the direction of the sound and immediately, the sight of a moving ball of spikes sent a big grin onto my face.

For some reason, hedgehogs at night appear entirely relaxed and at home, even in my own back yard. Maybe it’s just my own garden’s resident, but he or she always pauses their shuffling gait as soon as the torch picks them out. I tested this out by removing the beam and right away the shuffling began again. I returned the beam and it stopped.

What I should have done of course, was allow the little hedgehog (or hodgeheg, as Anna calls him), to scoot across the grass and into the bushes unmolested. However, my anarchic inner child had other ideas.

“Waffie!” I whisper-shouted.

To his credit, Waffle was at my heels in seconds.

“Look at the wee visitor Waffie,” I said, holding Waffle by his collar and guiding him along the beam of the torch towards the ball of spikes.

Initally, Waffle couldn’t follow the light and was more interested in jumping up to lick my face. Eventually though, after a little more coaxing and possibly the picking up of a new scent, he spotted Hedgie.

Whilst I had anticipated a growling or barking session, I was wrong.

Locking his gaze on Hedgie, Waffle went stock still, emitting a soft whine; the sort of whine he uses when he’s excited ahead of his dinner.

Whilst I had also anticipated Hedgie to adopt his renowned defensive position of rolling into a ball, he merely glanced in Waffle’s direction and sniffed. It was as if he could sense only too well that Waffle posed as much of a threat as a sleeping butterfly.

With his little snout-y face and his beady black eyes, the magical little hedgehog continued to blink in our direction as unperturbed as you like. He was, by turns, charming and enchanting.

I knew I couldn’t return to the house quickly enough so as to alert the little humans without Hedgie going AWOL. Worse still, I didn’t have my phone on my person. And so our little trio hunkered down and watched one another as the stars sparkled overhead and the world settled down for a much-needed breather. Waffle watched Hedgie. Hedgie watched Waffle and I watched them both and all along, the Hairy Fool continued his soft whine, which eventually, I could listen to no more and decided we should call it a night.

Making sure I retained a good grip on Waffle’s collar, I switched off the torch and immediately, the shuffling gait resumed.

After a moment and as my eyes acclimatised to the dark, I could just make out a little dark shadow disappear into the long grass bordering the garden.

For some reason – probably because he’s a sensitive type and was overwhelmed at encountering an otherworldly little hedgehog – Waffle continued with his whining. He whined as the little black shadow disappeared into the grass and he whined when I bade him return with me to the house. He also whined as I closed the back door and he whined we retired to the living room for a bit of telly.

For the first time ever perhaps, I didn’t have the heart to insist he, “shut his hairy mouth before I break it.”

Waffle was obviously just as affected as I was by the magical little encounter with our nocturnal visitor.