Tales from the hermitage:
digitalscapes by starchy
High in a young alder, silhouetted by a big harvest moon sat the dull, blunt nosed shape, of a large porcupine. His spiny extended quills radiated in shimmering halos of moonlight, couldn’t help but impress. For me, the remarkable vision encapsulated the complete spirit of the wilderness. However, that was as far as my admiration could stretch, for his intrusion could have serious consequences.
The prickly rotund sack had first caught my eye a few days earlier, when I was cutting firewood a kilometer behind the cabin. I at first thought the dim creature a squirrels nest, until it moved. The distance was just far enough away that I felt safe leaving Zibby to run free. However, his closer proximity beside the hermitage, now called for drastic measures.
With all the glorious smells and wonders, Zibby hated being on the leash in the woods. With her having no real life skills in the bush and a porker with something like 30,000 quills, it had to be done. Although I could see that she thought I was punishing her, I had no choice in the matter.
After dinner the following day, I noticed the prickly brute had descended the alder and I silently hoped he had hit the trail. Too be absolutely sure I kept Zippy unleashed but close to me. I had decided to be diligent and keep watch even if he failed to show up in another tree. The prospects of an encounter between them was frightening, and I invented all kinds of scenarios, and none of them had happy endings.
In the wee hours of the following day I awoke to hear Zibby growling from her mat under the stove. Then scratching sounds along the back end of the cabin. It didn’t take rocket science to know who our nocturnal visitor was.
I had taken the precaution of clearing the yard of anything chewable, that would attract it. Unfortunately, for me that was just about anything. Leather, bones, paddles, hand tools and anything with the taste and smell of salt.
It was when he began climbing the back cabin wall that I became concerned. After an hour of listening he eventually settled just under the gable window feeder. With Zibby going ballistic, I climbed down from the loft in the moonlight to get my old broom. Carefully opening the window and peering out, he was no more than a foot below me. I quietly removed the feeder and there it was simply clinging there, looking at me with dumb blunt beady eyes.
I didn’t want to hurt it or cause him to fall, I just wanted him to move on. Gently I tried to inch it away with the broom, but all I got was, teeth chatter, grunts and moans. And a broom full of quills.
I tried poking a little harder and it lost its grip and slid down, but managed to recover. Then to my great surprise the stupid lug climbed back to its original spot. Like the spot was a special place, reserved only for him and he wasn’t going to be deterred. I poked it again and this time it swung around and crunched up its back toward me. Smacking and chattering his teeth in very angry tones. The broom was a mass of quills. Fortunately for me, the notion about them being able to throw their quills is simply a myth.
I’d had it! I pushed him harder with the broom and he began to slide claws scratching downward. Making a terrible racket and urinating all over the cabin wall as it fell. Without a doubt they are the ugliest and most discussing critters around. However, he had to go! I kept up my attack and gently got him down to the full reach of my arm and broom handle. He was one unhappy customer and made every effort to return.
The commotion attracted the flying squirrel’s and they came zooming in, landing on the roof and walls to see what all the fuss was about. One even ran over my back into the loft, although my pals I wasn’t in the mood for play. The ridiculous spinney creature bluntly refused to go and began climbing back up. It not being to far off the ground I lunged at it with the full length of the broom and forced it off the wall. It fell in a hard ball onto the leafy forest floor, and just laid there silent and looking somewhat stunned.
I felt terrible and hoped I hadn’t hurt it. It was still in the same place when I arrived outside with broom and flashlight. Zibby was livid when I locked her in and she began her usual jumping up against the cabin door while uttering the most wail-full tunes. The old Porcupine seemed determined to stay. Again it rolled up into a defensive thorny ball when I tried to hustle its bristly carcass away with the broom.
This was becoming intolerable, this barbed creature had to go and fast. I grabbed a bunch of netting and carefully placed it over the chatting, chomping creature, and using the broom managed to tip it over, completely encasing it in netting. Gathering it all up I lifted the now urinating prickly mass at arms length and headed for the lake. I tossed it into the bow of the canoe, and shoved off, half dressed and bed lonely.
Tucked safely in, I jumped in and paddled the very angry stinking mass a few Kilometers down the shore. I have never seen such an angry animal before in my entire life. It was an unearthly scene, bordering on the demonic. I tried to drop it on land as delicately as possible, but it ended up unceremoniously in the water and for a second or two I thought it would drown. Jumping knee deep into the water I grabbed a section of floating netting, that was hampering its ability to swim. And was able to drag the gagging, spitting and coughing beast to shore. Thankfully it was able to free itself from the net without the need of my assistance, but it was one mad customer.
I have had no prior experience with Porkies but I can assure you that this fellow was angry to the point of demented. Yelling and clapping my hands had little effect and he refused to leave.
I tipped and flooded the canoe to rid it of the terrible smells and was astonished to see in the moonlight a few quills embedded in the ribs and gunnels. While always keeping a sharp eye on him, I carefully retrieved my netting. It was riddled with quills, enough I thought to decorated a small box I had been making.
I could hear Zibby’s faint yelps, even from this distance. And as I sat in the canoe, I was torn between my warm bed and the well being of this defiant brooding monster. Snapping and chomping its yellowing teeth at me, it refused to leave. I cant speak porkinize, but I can assure you that it wasn’t nice.
Their barbs, if left unattended will work inward under the skin and after time will strike an internal organ. Eventually, if the poor victim doesn’t die of starvation, a pierced internal organ will dispatch it in a long terrible drawn out death. All forest creatures are taught in youth the dangers of this animal and usually will avoid it. Only ignorant domestic mutts will bite a porcupine, and receive a painful mouth of quills. Some dogs I’m told are stupid enough to do it again, and never seem to learn.
I was now worried that I hadn’t taken it far enough away, and briefly considered recapturing it and banishing it to the far ends of the lake. It would take days to get Zibby to a vet, and I shuttered at the thought of seeing her with a mouth full of quills. I even toyed with the notion of killing it, but I could justify that action and quickly dismissed it.
Suddenly it fell quiet, as if reading my thoughts, and actually seemed to be taking stock of its surroundings. Like it had suddenly realized that this was where it wanted to be after all. Then it began waddling into the blackness of the surrounding bush, and all I could see was its rear end. Then soon only its grumblings, mutterings and moaning could be heard, long after it had disappeared.
Bill Stark
Comments