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Watering My Hedgehog  

Maurice O’Reilly

It is accepted protocol that any story featured in ‘Dart Talk’ must mention an SP250. I could argue that that requirement has now been experienced and continue in a far more interesting vein. Scandalous revelations about others who drive SP250’s or perhaps just their eccentric tendencies which I believe should be studied and recorded for future generations to ponder … just as we do when reading the memoirs of someone born before 1876. The relevance of this is date is important : Nikolaus Otto, working with Gottlieb Daimler and Wilhelm Maybach, started the genesis of the four-cycle petrol engine. The Daimler SP250 Dart was the eventual and ultimate product of their efforts.

Prior to this time people had a familiar association with (yerch) animals. With regard to their transportation requirements this meant a close affinity with Oxen, Camels, Yaks, Reindeer and Horses (to mention a few of the more recognised beasts of burden).  From my studies I deduce that they rode on them, towed variously styled carts behind them and generally treated them very badly. Whipping has been mentioned in some reports. I am eternally grateful that my parents were of a much latter generation and their efforts in procreation were successful in an age when the car bought speed and freedom never previously experienced – without smells. This era also heralded a whole new period of high risk to animals. Since then many animals are known to the modern generations as flat multi-coloured ‘blotches’ on our highways.

During the past 3 months my SP250 has been stored in an industrial building that I use for ‘projects’. This term is used to explain the creation of noise, dust, filthy clothes and on occasions the use of bad language when things fail to go according to plan. After 3 months in the ‘workshop’ my Dart was covered in various materials that were unacceptable to Flypaper. She has a thing about cleanliness and has even been known to demand my underwear after a period that I personally considered was insufficient to test the manufacturers’ claims regarding absorbency and odour resistance. I accepted that a car wash was the best line of least resistance and drove the car home where it could serve the duel purpose of watering the lawn and spiffing up the image. Bad decision.

As I entered the estate I became aware out the corner of my eye, of a scurrying animal that, given the continual whining by the SPCA, made me instinctively swerve – narrowly avoiding the canon I purchased to repel terrorists should they ever become a problem worthy of attention. I discovered the scurrying creature was a prickly bag of partially digested worms and grubs known as a Hedgehog. When I attempted an introduction by pocking it with my shoe it became unsociable and rolled into a spiky ball. With hindsight I should have taken the beast out to a suburb where the immigrant residents have been reported to comment that roasted Hedgehog tastes like chicken. However, my tender side is well known in our community. After all, I care for an Australian refugee and once lowered my gun when an endangered species was virtually ‘in the pot’.

The ‘hog eventually scuttled away – and I forgot about it. Bad decision. I am sure you will relate to this. A seemingly insignificant event comes back to haunt you and you swear you’ll never l make that mistake again.

The following morning I again made acquaintance with the ‘hog. It was enjoying a dip in our swimming pool. I suspect that it arrived at the edge of the pool and said, “Wow – this is the biggest cocktail I have ever seen”. Too bad its little nose couldn’t reach the nectar and it overbalanced – turning the ‘cocktail’ into a survival exercise. Once in a swimming pool a Hedgehog has little ability to exit again. You will have seen ducks and the like trying to get off the water – a Hedgehog cannot reach lift-off velocity and if it did the lack of ‘feathers-n-stuff’ make it unlikely to fly.

This is not the first time I’ve found a hedgehog swimming in my pool. On previous occasions I have made many mistakes when trying to evacuate them. This time I immediately resorted to the ‘leaf skimmer’. This is a big scoop like a spoon with holes in it to drain the water away from the item being scooped – like a grateful hedgehog. However, it has a design fault. The rescued ‘hog happily discovers it is out of the water – but on the end of a long pole being manipulated by one of those beings its mother told it was trouble. So it attempts to leap to safety. Eventually I scooped that prickly worm bag out and carefully placed it in the hedge separating us from our neighbours. This place was chosen after considerable thought. I understand hedges are the preferred sleeping places for hedgehogs. It never crossed my mind that the neighbours have a much more modern pool than ours. It’s very attractive and I’d love to swim there myself – especially when the teenage daughters are entertaining their friends. Hedgehogs get thirsty so I imagined it again headed for the most attractive ‘bar’ just as you would. It did.

The following evening I was unable to resist peeking through the hedge to discover the source of the strident shrieking emanating from the neighbours pool patio. As I poked my nose through the foliage the ‘mother’ was arriving at an impressive velocity and adding to the furore. She amplified the occasion with strident instruction that was worthy of a dominatrix with multiple clients. Scary, it made me hesitant, but the urge to save damsels in distress overcame my good sense and I rushed to the rescue. I could tell it was the same ‘hog – it had a distinctive stroke and the cluster of fleas sitting up on the only dry patch. My experience in removing hedgehogs from pools was helpful and in quick smart time I had everything under control. I accepted a chilled beverage for my efforts as I nonchalantly leaned on the ‘hog remover and recounted many more demanding experiences.

Fast forward to the next morning - when I had to return the SP250 to the ‘workshop’ due to the arrival of ‘tradesmen’ in our garage. As I circumnavigated the ‘skip’ parked outside my basement garage I experienced an unfamiliar sensation. I alighted to study the path – and discovered a fresh flat multi-coloured blotch with a prickly edge.

Maurice O’Reilly - February 2014