Hedgehog on Vacation
exciting news & a midnight picnic
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Hi friendos!
I interrupt your regularly scheduled hedgehog travelogue to bring you some important updates.
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And now, back to our regularly scheduled nonsense…
Six years ago I was living with a gaggle of gays in Surrey, BC. We were a mix of anime gays, plant gays, vegan gays, choir gays, stoner gays, and a five-year-old who loved to crow like a rooster on the trampoline. Apart from us humans, there were three cats, seasonal swarms of fruit flies and cupboard moths, the occasional flea, and one hedgehog. This tiny ball of spikes is the star of our story today.
His name was Rocko (truth be told I couldn’t remember his name so I thought I’d name him after my favourite diner slash Elmo’s archnemesis) and his caretaker was my roommate Otis, who was raised on a daschund farm with a flock of siblings. Otis was thoughtful and hilarious, but could also reasonably be described as a space cadet. One day when Otis brought Rocko into the backyard for a grub snuffling sesh, they got distracted by a phone call and went inside without him. It was dark by the time we realized what had happened, and despite our best efforts, we couldn’t find the little guy.
Hedgehogs are tiny, nocturnal, and possess a somewhat hostile indifference toward humanity, so the chances that he would allow himself to be captured like some lowly, unspiked mutt and brought to a shelter seemed next to nil. We hoped for good news but expected the worst, and life carried on, noticeably less prickly than before.
A fortnight later (why yes, I do know the fancy word for two weeks), my roommates and I had a midnight picnic under the full moon. It was a warm night, the fruits of summer were nearly bursting out of their skins, and the moon lit up our backyard with an ethereal blue light. We dressed up in our finest pleather and lace, laid out a blanket full of snacks, and enjoyed the soft breeze as it played with our hair. A couple of joints and woah-that’s-deeps later, we were munching on some fresh strawberries when a tiny brown animal frolicked across our blanket. To our astonishment, Rocko came ambling back into our lives!
He was healthy and in high spirits—life on the lam had been good to our little buddy. He must have thrived in the fresh air, scritching and snorfling and meandering to his heart’s content. Here we’d been, worrying about his safety, while he was out having the time of his life. At the end of the day, though, no amount of freedom can compete with the taste of a sweet, juicy strawberry, and when that scent wafted by his tiny twitchy nostrils, Rocko hung up his outlaw hat and joined us at our picnic. We were so relieved—our prodigal son had returned.
Although I no longer have a hedgehog for a roommate, another critter has come skittering into my life. No, I don’t mean my partner; they’re a cryptid. I’m talking about our bunno, Irwin.
Irwin started digging his way into our hearts last spring. He’s curious and mischievous, and he oinks when he’s happy. When he’s overcome with joy, he prances about with hay in his mouth. He likes pets, but NOT THAT MANY STOP. He loves a good blueberry or apple slice, and his favourite herb is mint. He is a bun of many names, including Honeyboy, Commander, Booper, Boofer, Snoopy, Snugglebutt and Stinkerpants. His pants are actually very clean—grooming himself is one of his favourite hobbies. He likes being good except when he feels like being bad, and nothing gets him more excited than a spoonful of pellets. We are slowly expanding his tunnel system (pictured above), under which he appears to be digging a hole to China.
I want to feature a subscriber’s furry, feathered or scaled friend in every issue of kier here going forward! Please reply to this email (kier@substack.com) with your name and a picture and short bio of your animal companion so I can feature them in an upcoming newsletter. Help me spread the awww!
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the name of the hedgehog, quite forgettably, was Dorkupine.
I'm a cryptid!? That explains some things...