Geraldines story
How do porcupines do it
A very sad thing happened a few years ago.
In our village, a lonely and rather crazzy man, who had long been an alcooholic, was awarded the appartment over the Mairie for his last few years of live . His name was Jacky.
To help him avoid loneliness, he picked up protecting the stray cats wandering in the village.
And guess what happened : instead of only having 3 or 4 cats around, he gathered them in a marquee next to the Mairie, right in the middle of the village, giving them food twice or three times a day. The plan included he was to have the females sterilized, which, of course, he never did.
Within a couple of years the village was infested with stray cats, all so very cute but : they shat all over the place leaving a horrible smell in the center of Villars. If I happened to leave the windows open in the gîte, which I did when I cleaned it, they would come and piss on the duvet and leave a putrid scent.
All this was so crazy : our village taken over by cats ! Within a couple of years there were more feline than humans. The Maire was aksed if it would be possible to move this breeding to the outskirts of the village, but not wanting to upset Jacky he let this go as it was.
The population took over and began chasing the cats, trying to get ridd of them
as it was all getting unbearable. Our
way of taking part was to train our little Naîka to chase them away from our
house and gîte. Each time a cat showed
itself in the surroundings, we would shout out « chat !
chat ! » to our dog and she would dash at it barking untill the poor
cat would start fleeing away. That’s how
we safened our house from a cat invasion for a couple of years untill Jacky
died and the SPA came to help solve the problem by taking the hord of cats and
kittens away for adoption.
Meanwhile, one morning – it was a beautiful sunny day in springtime, a bit like today – I heard a strange noise behind my winter jasmine, the one in front of the house. Small mild squeaks came from the hind ! I immediately thought it was a cat hiding her kittens there, as they did very often, being homeless, so I got Naïka near the bush and when she was near enough shouted « chat ! chat ! » in order to chase the hidden cat.
The next thing I saw was Naïka, half mad, with a little naked pink small living being in her jaws, that she proudly showed us before dropping it in the middle of the yard.
Oh no ! It’s not a cat or a kitten ! Stop Naïka, stop, stop, stop ! But she had been sollicitated to chase the cat and made no difference between a cat, kitten or whatever this poor little lively new-born « animal » was.
So she had time to come out with this second newborn ceature before we could stop her and lock her up in the bathroom in order to find out what the slaughtering was about.
By this time I was feeling so guilty and almost sick by the mistake I had made and started searching behind the jasmine to find a mother hedgehog with another newborn pink baby, rising her quills to protect herself and her little family.
I brought a few more small branches and grass to help her hide again and then questionned myself ! How do hedghogs do it ? Probably just like porcupines….
Well, the male may circle for hours in what’s often called a « hedgehog carousel » then, if the female is receptive, she flattens her quills and raises her tail which exposes her underside and prevents the male from being injured. It all seems to be very skillful and quick !
The point, for me, was not to find out how they do it, but a thanfull opportunity to tell this story and hope for the redemption I’ve been waiting for during all these years !
.
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Annemarie's story
How do porcupines do it?
With thirty thousand speckled spears,
long and barbed and hollow,
the porcupine moves slowly through the forest
dusk caught golden in her bristles,
with danger lurking in the tips.
At first she tries with sticks and twigs
in the hush of northern woods
where lightly trips the evening wind.
Her squeaky barks and whimpers
mingle with the autumn rustle of fallen leaves.
Sightless she climbs a straggling tree,
her quills spread low and sleek.
Belly as pale as birch bark she listens.
She smells, hears and tastes the air
for manly answers to her song of calls.
Two porcupines are circling,
steady spheres of careful caution,
teeth incising, bodies turning,
quills bristling - rising, falling
as fields of grass on windswept plain.
She slowly stumbles down the tree
and waits the winner's spray of wee.
Love for them is heedful and precise.
A choreography of shuffle,
a layering of tail along a lowering of quills.
He approaches from behind
and when at last they close the distance
he leans against what no longer wounds
and finds a firmer way to hold.
Then the gentle couple breathe amongst the quills.
Despite the lack of sight,
despite the threat of sharpness
that all these creatures carry
in their forest of defences,
Still - somehow - they find a way to do it!
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Paula's story
Laurie was browsing in one of her favorite boutiques, idly thumbing through dresses on the sale rack, when a blouse on a nearby table caught her eye. She was drawn to it immediately. A seemingly simple short-sleeved top of beige cotton and linen, the front of the piece was a silk overlay, exquisitely embroidered in a complicated design of winding flora with threads of rust, forest green, gold and aubergine. The style of the top was casual, but the embroidery — almost Victorian in nature and detail — instantly elevated the cotton blouse into fabulousness.
She mentally crossed her fingers as she searched the collar for the price tag; sure enough, it was expensive. But she loved it. Should she splurge? She hesitated, then took it into the fitting room and slipped it on. It was one of the most beautiful items of clothing she had ever seen, and not the kind of thing she usually wore. She immediately began calculating CPW, or cost per wearing. If she wore it all spring and summer, with jeans, with leggings, with skirts, it really wouldn’t be so expensive after all: maybe two or three euros each time she wore it. She talked herself into the indulgence.
She put it on the next afternoon as she was dressing for a garden party, and she instantly stood taller, felt prettier, smiled more. This simple top had almost magical powers!
The next day, she carefully washed it by hand, and set it atop her pile of ironing. As she ran the hot iron across the cotton back of the blouse, the tip of the iron came into contact with the silk placket connecting the back to the cotton sleeve, and the delicate fabric instantly dissolved.
And so did Laurie, into tears, standing there at the ironing board staring with disbelief and dismay at her beautiful blouse. Why did she have the iron turned to such a hot setting? Why wasn’t she more careful? Why wasn’t she paying more attention? All that money, and now the piece was ruined. And after wearing it only once!
Suddenly, she had an idea. Her friend Anna Mae was one of the most creative people she knew. Anna Mae could do anything with a needle and thread, not to mention her skills at fabric painting, gardening, cooking, baking, and writing. Laurie decided she would take the spoiled blouse to Anna Mae and ask her if there was anything she could do to save it. What did she have to lose?
The next day, Anna Mae examined the poor blouse, looked up at Laurie’s tear-streaked face, and said, “Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can do.”
A week later, she called Laurie and said, “Come get your blouse. I think it turned out OK.” When Laurie arrived, her heart was in her mouth, although she was trying not to get her hopes up too high. Anna Mae handed Laurie the tissue-wrapped blouse, and when Laurie pulled the top from the paper, she gasped. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was better than before.
Anna Mae had somehow, miraculously, embroidered a beautiful flower, a replica of those scattered across the silk front of the blouse, onto the silk placket on the shoulder, melding the fabric back into a single piece with her expert and beautiful handiwork. The stitching was so perfect, the echo of the flora on the front panel so unexpected, that Laurie couldn’t even speak for a moment. In awe, she looked up at her friend and whispered, “How did you do this?”
“How did I do it?” Anna Mae responded. With a mischievous grin, she said, “Well, how do porcupines do it? Very carefully!”
Anna Mae rewrapped the blouse in the tissue paper, handed it to Laurie and said, “There you go, Laurie. Bob’s your uncle!”
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Jackie's
Miss Porcupi climbed a tree and started her breakfast chewing on a piece of bark and sipping some dew. It was not her usual tree and it tasted a little odd but as she was hungry after her night on the prowl - she thought little of it.
Suddenly she felt cold – really cold and started to shiver. Turning her head she looked at her body and saw with horror that her quills were falling off by handfuls onto the ground below. She had bare bald patches on her back and could feel a draft on her now tender skin. Her quills had disappeared. She had never seen her skin before and was surprised to see patches of wrinkly motley grey .
Crying real crocodile tears she sobbed her heart out – no quills meant no protection no means of defense and more than that no mating and no babies to come. Her mother had always told her that mating came just once a year. Who would want her now ? no respectable man porcupine would consider mating with a bald lady porcupine. But just how wrong she was to be.
Tears rolled down her face and dribbled down the tree in big drops onto the earth below gradually making quite a riverlette of water where she could see her quills floating about. Several ants had caught a ride on the quills and were sailing down the little river that she had made with her tears and they were shouting with glee at sailing a boat even though it was a little spiky.
Soon the ants were joined by spiders and other insects and there was quite a little party going on with a colony of creatures having a great time as she sobbed her heart out for the benefit of her friends.
Her confusion and sadness started her mating hormones to set in motion and before she knew it there were quite a selection of available porcupine men to choose from. Well I never she thought – It can’t be all bad, I must be quite attractive after all.
Of course the idea of being able to mate with a female porcupine at any time of the year with no chance of being stabbed with a quill was appealing….One of them promised to look after her for the rest of her life but asked in xchange for frequent sex not just once a year but at least once a month –another just jumped on her and wouldn’t stop
Halleluia It wasn’t so bad to be spineless after all.
