Three years ago I accidentally disturbed a hedgehog with her babies in the stable. I tried to put things back but found later that she had moved them all out apart from one. His hungry piping was heart rending so I took him in and became addicted. I called him Wilfred Pickles, he stayed over winter and taught me a lot before his release the following May. Because he was my first one I spent hours with him, he used to fall asleep spread-eagled on my chin or snuggled in my polo-necked jumper. Callers were astounded when I explained that my stiff neck was only a hedgehog. He used to snuffle through my hair and several times I needed assistance to disentangle him.
He was almost vegetarian accepting only smoked bacon and beetles with his apples, digestive biscuits, raw egg and chocolate. Anything which remotely smelled of burning such as coffee, cigarette ends, ‘Jeyes Fluid’, creosote or ash sent him into raptures whereupon he indulged in the mysterious hedgehog habit of self anointing. He would lick the strong smelling object, foam at the mouth and then flip the bubbles into his prickles. No one understands why. Wilfred was soon joined by others until I had cages piled up forming a high-rise tower in my cluttered kitchen.