Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Little Spiny Friend

So when I was excavating the protruding ruins of the detached room outside for any evidence of PAAS and relics of celebrations past (those stuffed animal Peeps command a mind-blowing price in the Easter antiquities black market) I flipped the light on.

(I KNOW, I KNOW, "SO I WENT TO GET OUR EASTER AND GREAT RITE BOXES OUTSIDE AND TURNED THE LIGHTS ON" DOESN'T SOUND MUCH LIKE A LEAD INTO A STORY BUT TRUST ME ON THIS, OKAY? THERE ARE PICTURES OF ADORABLE INDIGENOUS WILDLIFE TO FOLLOW, JUST STICK WITH ME HERE.)

Right, so, I TURNED ON THE LIGHT. In the outside room. During the day. (YES, THIS STORY IS GOING SOMEWHERE.) The thing is, I didn't mean to flip the switch because there was sufficient ambient light from DAY-FUCKING-LIGHT. (I'M ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE, FOR THE MOST PART, WHO DON'T REQUIRE MORE ILLUMINATION THAN OTHERS. IF THE SUN'S OUT I'M PROBABLY GOING TO BE OKAY WITHOUT THE DESK LAMPS AND CEILING FAN AND SPOTLIGHTS. BUT DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH THE LIGHTS - ESPECIALLY IF YOU DON'T ASK ME FIRST - WHEN I'M IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN COOKING. NEVER ASSUME APPROPRIATE LIGHT LEVELS FOR SOMEONE HOLDING A FILLET KNIFE WHO HATES PEOPLE ASSUMING APPROPRIATE LEVELS OF ANYTHING ON HER BEHALF.)

That absentminded folly didn't come to proper fruition until it was cold and dark and late AND DID I MENTION COLD ALREADY? YES? WELL, I'M IN SCOTLAND SO IT'S JUSTIFIED. (<- That'll fleece at least half of you, AT LEAST! I've never endured sissy weather until I moved from the Midwest of the US (WINDCHILL FACTORS AHOY!) to northeast Scotland. There've been days in fucking December where all I needed was a fucking sweater while romping in the countryside. TEXAS, PERHAPS YOU'D BE WILLING TO GIVE UP SOME OF YOUR EXTREME WEATHER TO GIVE NE SCOTLAND JUST A TEENY TINY EDGE? Y/Y?)

Minutes before midnight I noticed the stark light emanating from sloppily closed, homemade curtains. And I inwardly groaned, because I knew it was MY fault, and I couldn't REALLY expect Italics to go galloping outside for me because what's worse than having to put on socks and shoes and a jacket and find a flashlight that works and locate the outside room key and go out in the dark and cold and late to turn off a light in a detached room? PUTTING ON SOCKS AND SHOES AND A JACKET AND FINDING A FLASHLIGHT THAT WORKS AND LOCATING THE OUTSIDE KEY AND GOING OUT IN THE DARK AND COLD AND LATE TO TURN OFF A LIGHT IN A DETACHED ROOM THAT YOU DIDN'T EVEN TURN ON IN THE FIRST PLACE.

(See? I can be perfectly reasonable, mature and understanding during these unimportant obstacles and events in life.)

NO, NO, I'LL DO IT, IT WAS MY MISTAKE, I offered all magnanimously but kind've sort've waited for a second, more earnest offer from Italics that never materialized. (HELL, I DON'T BLAME HIM.) And just as I'm about to wrench the patio door open, just as I'm about to brace all of my weight to move the goddamn thing (it's warped off the track and you can see some of OUTSIDE from INSIDE so we know EXACTLY where heat's escaping in winter but it doesn't seem to bother my in-laws, so...), just as the flashlight goes on, just as the flip-flops begin stamping in the floor mat I see this and shout "OH MY GOD ITALICS! HURRY, HURRY! COME QUICK!":

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For those of you who CAN'T READ MY MIND or USE CONTEXT CLUES TO INTERPRET THE IMAGE YOU'VE JUST SEEN that's a hedgehog - THE FIRST OF THE SEASON! - parked in one of Chippy's stainless steel dog bowls on the patio chowing down on some homemade yogurt soup with root vegetables. Normally our first contact with THE GREAT CHTHONIC WILD PIGS OF SCOTLAND is around June, so an early April visit was a bit of a shock (they traditionally begin to emerge from hibernation around this time).

(I GOT SCOLDED, BTW. MY "OH MY GOD, COME QUICK!" (BECAUSE A HEDGEHOG IS HERE) APPARENTLY SOUNDS MORE LIKE "OH MY GOD, COME QUICK!" (BECAUSE I'VE JUST INJURED, MAIMED, AND AMPUTATED MYSELF) AND IT'S HARD TO TELL THE DIFFERENCE IF I INSIST ON USING BRACKETS TO DENOTE MY REASONING FOR "OH MY GOD, COME QUICK!" USAGE.)

We already had the tripod set up so Italics quickly positioned shit to snap a few pictures from inside the backroom (see above). Plagued by a constant need of closeups I tip-toed back outside, sans jacket but with flip-flops and light, and found our first visitor curled in a hidden corner of the patio. (NOTE TO SELF: Measure the corner to fit a hedgehog box beneath the plant beams! Better to have their house next to the patio door than under a bush next to the road.)

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Click thumbnail for larger image.

Usually hedgehog visitations include a quick house call (they're brought into the bathroom so we check them over for any visible wounds or injuries, dislodge ticks and fly larvae sacs and then give them a quick rinse beneath a stream of clean water before releasing them back on the patio) but this little guy (girl? I can't tell, I normally have to do the "belly button" check) looked a bit shell-shocked and scared so it got a free pass.

But next time? NEXT TIME YOU GET THE HEDGEHOG LUSH BATH, MY LITTLE SPINY FRIEND.