Of Harold and How I Found Him

It has always been a dream of mine to someday own a hedgehog. And an owl.

They'd be best friends. Amigos. Partners in crime.

I would write a children's book about them.

Well. This past June, my hopes were almost realized.

 

I met Harold.

Our meeting was monumental.

It all started with a neighbor's dog getting loose. He ended up in the tumble-down yard of a nearby abandoned house. And boy, was he upset about something. Once our neighbor had retrieved the still barking dog, he announced that it was only a hedgehog.

Only a hedgehog.

I froze. "Hedgehog?" I asked.

He nodded.

I sprinted into our house.

What followed was a mad conglomeration of trying to find a pair of old jeans to protect my legs from nettles, jumping up and down in excitement, attempting to tell my dad about how amazing this was, grabbing a towel and rapidly trying to come up with a name for my soon-to-be hedgehog baby as I raced back outside.

My brother, Isaac joined me in my quest. The goal: to find the poor, mistreated animal that must be in need of an overly-loving human mother and to name him Harold. (By that time I had decided that he would be Harold.) First obstacle: scaling the fortress' barricade. After he gave me a lift over the fence, we made our way stealthily towards the spot were my wonderful, prickly pet was hiding.

Before approaching Harold, I explained to Isaac the importance of not frightening him. Since he was about to be a part of the family and we needed to make a good first impression. So my brother straightened his collar (or rolled his eyes) and we continued.

I spoke soft, soothing words to the little (large) ball of spikes as I went to pick him up. My brother stopped me.

"He looks kindof ... sharp." he warned me.

I laughed.

"Please. I've watched youtube videos about all of this. I know what I'm doing."

Soon, Harold was safe and sound in my parent's bedroom. (my mom wasn't home and didn't learn about this till later...) I proudly announced to my father that he was now a grandpa. He gave me a look. Then he took pictures. Then he Googled while I played happily with my shweet baby.

"Uh-oh."

Google had announced that, because of their high heart-rate, 'wild' hedgehogs don't adjust well to becoming pets and could have a heart attack.

I stared.

"You mean...Harold could have a heart attack and .... die?"

My dad nodded.

I gathered my hedgehog up quickly and headed for the door. Only one thing mattered now. Harold needed to get outside and not die. We quickly said goodbye to all of our neighborhood children that had met Harold just a few minutes before. There were a few tears. Then it was a hurried walk to the woods to release my hedgehog.

 

Harold and I said our goodbyes. And then he was off.

Harold was a wonderful hedgehog and I will always treasure those thirty minutes that I had him.

Now I must look for his little brother or sister that I can keep.

And introduce to my pet owl. And write a book about.

The end.