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March 31st 2009

   Hedgehog, hedgehog.  The young ones will follow after a parent as they root through a late evening into the early morning.  Little miniature hedgehogs hurrying to keep up even though they are still drinking their mother's milk.  

    It is an enterprise of understanding for them.  Steal one away too soon and he'll die.  Out there alone.  If you tire of him.

   Okanya and I always looked for hedgehogs, not so much because of the protein, but because Okanya's mother could make them dance.

    

    She would beat a stick against a cooking pot, looking for a particular resonance.  When she found it, the hedgehog, whether it was curled up or not would jump, all four feet off the ground.

    Granted I was younger then, and since that time my memory has drifted, but to this day I can see the little creature dance.

    In Oxfordshire England, I once tried to make a hedgehog dance.  Without success.  That little European looked at me as though I wasn't quite right.

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