There's bunches of these little guys at our house.
Okay, maybe not bunches.
But they come out every night. And we always know when one appears because the dogs go crazy. They bark without ceasing and dance around it and even put their mouths on it, but they won't bite them or massacre them the way they do with rats and snakes. I mean, would you?
And then the hedgehog screams bloody murder. Kind of sounds like a small child crying. A mad small child.
"Pick it up," my husband says to me.
Pick it up? Like with my hands? You want me to pick up a prickly, pokey rodent which I'm sure has teeth in there somewhere? The dogs won't touch it; why should I?