In the dark, a three-legged hedgehog trundles clumsily by, gathering leaves to make his bed more comfortable, although apparently not comfortable enough to hibernate. This may be his eighth winter; hedgehogs lose pigment with age and his bright pink nose suggests he’s well over five – the average age of a wild hog. Except he’s not wild, or not for now. I’ve had to lock him in the garden.
His name is Houdini. He came into my life three years ago, captured on my trail camera with bone exposed from a partially missing leg. I caught him to take to the rescue centre, but he escaped before I got a chance – twice. I finally nabbed him and named him after the great escapologist. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a journey together.
