Our last resident hedgehog went to heaven by the route most hedgepigs take - being flattened on the road. (Q: Why did the hedgehog cross the road? A: To see his flat mate.) Since then, the slugs have proliferated so that I didn't dare walk out on the deck barefoot at night for fear of feeling that hideous sensation of squishing slime beneath my sole. Slugs were slithering up the patio doors; they were leapfrogging the copper tape on my flowerpots to get to the tasty violas and petunias. They were even taking hazardous trips across the pond netting and the corpses of those that didn't make it float like bloated, decaying sea cucumbers and have to be fished out before they pollute the water.
Last night at 12.45am (or rather, this morning), I decided I was chilly and in need of comfort so I got up to make myself a hot water bottle. In the dark. Yes, I risked pouring boiling water into the neck of the HWB in darkness, because I knew if I switched on the light, it would wake me up. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I made out a dark shape next to the curry container I had put out for the foxes. I blinked. It moved. I blinked again. It couldn't be... could it?
I groped around for the torch, one of those big halogen spotlight ones, and caught in the beam was the biggest fattest hedgehog I have ever seen, merrily munching slugs. Hooray! I hope it and its family will continue to denude the garden of every slithery citizen. And may this well-stocked sluggery be the only heaven this hedgepig inhabits for a very long time.
No comments:
Post a Comment