A Handful of Happiness

by Massimo Vacchetta

  Selina was at peace roaming around the enclosure. Sometimes, although it was hard, she climbed onto the roof of Ninna’s house and looked around from there. I was happy. The first hedgehog to arrive at the La Ninna center was safe and sound!

  22

  Meanwhile, what had happened to little Trilly?

  He was still there, at the La Ninna Hedgehog Rescue Center. Healthy and plump. One day I did a test. I put him in the outdoor pen with Ninna, just to see how he would behave. I was pleasantly surprised. He was immediately attracted to Ninna and began circling her. He’d always been so difficult and ill-tempered, but with her he showed an unexpected patience and tenderness.

  It was captivating.

  She was cautious but not distrustful. Almost totally still, she looked at him now and again with her bright little eyes. Trilly courted her elegantly, subtly. It was unbelievably kind and sweet. When Ninna gave off some subtle hints that she wasn’t rejecting him but rather was pleased to accept his attentions, I decided to separate them, fearing that love could blossom any moment. I set up a divider in part of the enclosure and put Trilly there. That way he could still live outside, and get used to feeling the grass and leaves under his feet and the sky over his head again. He kept getting bigger and stronger. And as I’d anticipated, he even reached a weight of one and a half kilos.

  Yes, the time had come…

  I’d prepared a new, very nice little house for him, again using an old wine crate. It came out a masterpiece, with a little trough, built like the house, with a ten-by-ten-centimeter opening. The food went in the opposite side from the entrance so that cats couldn’t steal his chow. And, speaking of chow, I remember I’d offered a special menu that night, with various types of kibble and pieces of meat. And a slice of watermelon.

  I didn’t want him to forget.

  But who knows…

  Because this was to be our last night together. The following day, I was taking him to Susanna’s, to the place that by now all my friends knew as “Paradise.”

  And there, I was going to free him.

  The next morning, the unveiled sun announced a splendid day. It was a pleasant temperature. But I felt so strange. Sure yet undecided, in alternation. I was afraid I’d never see Trilly again. But my desire to let him live his life in complete freedom was stronger. And that gave me joy. Yet it was a joy colored by the fact that I missed him already.

  Everything was ready. I reached into Trilly’s house to pick him up. He bit me. Hard. My finger was bleeding. “Blood. That’s how you seal a pact. A rite of brotherhood. So a friendship will last forever,” I found myself telling him, with a melancholy smile.

  We left. I drove very carefully as I didn’t want him to get nauseous—I’d learned my lesson from that trip to the sea with Ninna. Moreover, I wanted everything to happen slowly. I felt the need to face the journey not just as a physical one, but also as a more personal, spiritual path.

  Inside the car, it was Trilly, me, and the magical notes of Ludovico Einaudi. I’d chosen the music carefully. It was the most appropriate for that moment.

  Valley after valley led us to a ridge. From there you could see Paradise. I stopped the car and got out for a minute. Savoring that vista, every bit of it, I felt good. Sky, earth, mountains, grass, trees, birds in flight—uncontaminated harmony. There could be no more beautiful place for Trilly, and for a moment I felt at peace.

  When we got to Paradise, Susanna greeted us. Her white hair was gathered at her nape. She wore a light, three-quarter-length dress. It billowed gently with the breeze and then softly fell. She was holding a book, with a finger between pages keeping her place. As always, her eyes and smile were serene. And sincere.

  We walked through her beautiful, partially unkempt yard to the guest house where she invited friends sometimes. It was stone, surrounded by ivy and other creepers. Near there, in the shadow of a laurel hedge, I set Trilly’s house, with him in it, and the trough. And a bowl of fresh water. I did everything with ease, followed by Susanna’s light eyes. I turned to her and said: “I think everything’s in order. Remember to make sure he always has food and water. And tonight, when you get a chance, check on him, just to see whether he comes out.” I’d brought Trilly there early on purpose, so he’d have plenty of time to orient himself and figure out where his food and water were before night fell and he went out to explore.

  Then it was time for good-bye. “Bye, Trilly. I’m leaving you here, in Paradise. Take care of yourself. Good luck.”

  I started for the car. Before leaving, I waved good-bye to Susanna. She waved back, while one of her cats tried to catch a fluttering strip of her dress.

  I’d found Trilly in such miserable condition, and now he was strong and healthy.

  And free.

  I was so happy for him!

  The next morning, I called Susanna. I wanted news, to find out how the first night had gone. She replied, “I don’t know whether Trilly is still in his house or if he’s out. I watched until late, but he didn’t come out.”

  “What? Were you there watching the whole time?” I asked her.

  “Yes. I took a seat and planted myself directly in front of his house. I had a flashlight, and every so often I pointed it at it. But I never saw him,” she confirmed.

  “But if he senses your presence, he won’t come out,” I said.

  “Oops…” she said.

  We both broke out in laughter, imagining Trilly impatiently waiting for her to get tired and go off to bed so he could finally come out.

  The next day, I went back. Trilly was gone. But that wasn’t the end of it. Several times during the summer, Susanna noticed a huge hedgehog. She wasn’t completely sure, but I felt it was Trilly. Such large hedgehogs aren’t common. She’d see it in the late evening, in the yard, near the house and surrounding area. And, naturally, around the trough. But the best part was in August, because something strange happened. Which, when I really think about it, isn’t so strange: baby hedgehogs! Tons of ’em. I went to visit. I wanted to bring her some kibble and chat. Talking with her was always pleasant and interesting. And so I saw all the hoglets, too.

  I’m sure a fair number of that overabundance of hedgehogs was Trilly’s offspring. I would have bet on it. After all, hadn’t I seen him in action with Ninna? I knew that lady hedgehogs couldn’t resist his charms!

  23

  By now the La Ninna Hedgehog Rescue Center was open for business. Hedgehogs came from all over. Mostly babies, but also wounded adults. Looking after them all started to become a lot of work. Luckily, I had some volunteers to give me a hand. How did I find them? Well, it actually happened by chance. Like one afternoon when the phone rang. I answered immediately. On the other end, a girl’s excited voice. “I found two baby hedgehogs. I know for sure they haven’t eaten in at least two days. I don’t know how to help them. Can I bring them to you?” An hour later, she came over with her entire family. In one hand, she held a box with the hedgehogs. She offered me the other: “I’m Patrizia. I called a little while ago.”

  I took care of the little ones right away. First thing, they needed to be rehydrated. Meanwhile, Patrizia told me how she found them. “Two days ago, we saw a dead hedgehog on the road in front of our house. I don’t know why, but right away we had the impression she was a mother. We felt so bad for her. So we decided to bury her in the yard. And today, in the sun, right where we’d buried her, there were these two babies. Had they smelled the hedgehog underground and wandered there because of that? Or maybe their nest was nearby? Or maybe they were just hungry? We don’t know. The fact remains, there they were. And it seemed like they were looking for something. Or someone…And we wanted to help them. Our vet gave us your number. He told us you rescue hedgehogs here.”

  “Yeah, we’re getting famous,” I said, smiling. I’d almost finished with the hoglets. “They weigh eighty grams each. And there’s a good chance they’ll survive. Leave them here.
I’ll keep you updated on their condition.”

  “I like how you handle them. Gentle yet confident,” Patrizia remarked, pleased.

  “Helping hedgehogs is very important to me. They’re such defenseless little creatures. And often overlooked. I think they’re special. As is every creature in this world, anyway.”

  Thus, we said good-bye.

  But the next day, Patrizia called me again, worked up. “I found another baby hedgehog. In the same place.”

  A little brother who’d gone an extra day without food. There was no time to waste. I met her halfway and, once I got back, immediately treated the third orphan.

  Day by day, the three hoglets grew. Patrizia and her parents frequently came to visit and each time were astonished at their progress.

  The little foundlings quickly reached the ideal weight for being returned to their natural habitat. Also, they were healthy; they’d just needed to be adequately nourished. Patrizia and I took them into the hills. Far away, to some friends. A “pre-release” pen had been specially built for them, where the three siblings would have a chance, under proper supervision, to adjust. Two weeks later, we opened the gates and freed them completely. Choked up with emotion, we watched them take their first steps and then dash off into the grass, through the shrubs, unconfined. Mission accomplished!

  “You’re smiling. But not with your eyes,” Patrizia said to me. “There’s a big shadow there. You’re happy and sad.” And that was exactly how I felt.

  She understood.

  So I ventured to ask, “What made you so concerned about those little hedgehogs?”

  “It’s an old story.”

  “Maybe this is the time and place to tell it.”

  “It was May 29, 1999, when I held a hedgehog in my hands for the first time. Not a real one, it was a stuffed animal. A friend had given it to me. Because I talked so little. I kept everything inside—closed myself up like a hedgehog, he said. In fact, he even called me ‘hedgie.’ From then on, people often gave me hedgehog gifts, other friends or relatives, until I had a whole collection. I had all kinds: glass, silver, wood. And when I saw those three real hedgehogs in the garden, flesh and blood, and their dead mother…well, something clicked.”

  I nodded. She was silent for a moment, her gaze lost on the horizon, chasing memories. Then she continued: “I’ve always loved all animals, and my secret dream was to be able to do something for them. Those three hoglets ended up on my street. That means it was fate. And there’s something else, too. Your enthusiasm is infectious. I want to find a way to help hedgehogs, too.”

  It was a poignant moment. The air was charged. The three hedgehogs’ release and now such a genuine, selfless offer of help. I concealed how emotional it made me with a smile and a few words. “You’re in!” I said.

  She laughed, happy. “But I don’t live near town. What can we do?” We both knew that when there’s passion and goodwill, you find a way. And so it was. Patrizia is still an active volunteer. She works remotely, handling social media for the La Ninna center—for example, our Facebook page, where she replies to requests for help, giving information or directions to the nearest rescue center. She sets up our stand at events and prepares our informational/instructional items, conducts giveaways, keeps up with our contacts, and much more. She’s priceless! And like her, there are several others. Volunteers who share my work and the passion, my joys, pains, and hopes.

  That summer I released lots of hedgehogs. Always in beautiful spots. I didn’t take them to Susanna’s anymore, to avoid overpopulating the area, since Trilly had already taken care of that.

  But I still had Ninna. I couldn’t manage to pull away.

  Even though.

  Even though I thought about it all the time. And every time I did a release, I felt guilty. I gave other hedgehogs their lives back, but not Ninna. Giulia wrote me so:

  Let her go!

  Dorthe, my Danish friend, also insisted:

  The right thing is for Ninna to go her own way. She’s healthy, and it’s her right. And you’ll have more room, more time, and more energy for the other hedgehogs arriving at your center. And for others in the future. Massimo, don’t listen to that little part of yourself controlled by selfishness. You’re not a selfish person.

  They were right, oh yes, they were right! But it was so hard.

  24

  That summer Salvo arrived. A girl had found him in her yard. She’d taken care of him for a few days, but when she realized the hedgehog’s condition was getting worse, she asked the Wildlife Recovery Center in Cuneo for help, and they sent her to me.

  I examined it closely. It was in a terrible state. Its front legs were paralyzed. The back ones barely moved, almost not at all. She’d name him Salvo, perhaps out of the wish he’d be saved or maybe because he’d managed to survive so far.

  The hedgehog had signs of a serious neurological problem. The episodes would happen suddenly. At their height, his mouth would spread into a grimace. A clear symptom of his condition, I knew. But it also looked like a desperate, mute cry for help.

  A silent scream.

  Which infused me with a dizzying dose of worry.

  During these fits, at a certain point, Salvo would twist his head back and jerk up and down—up, down, up, down, up, down—fast, uncontrollably.

  I told the girl the situation was rough. Her eyes glistened. She didn’t hide it. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was totally gripped by Salvo’s tragedy. Her voice shaking, she whispered, “Do whatever you can, please.”

  I tried to assess objectively, even though a part of me was already emotionally involved. In my heart, I hoped for a miracle, because I wasn’t sure treatment would cure his symptoms enough for him to be returned to nature. For an exact diagnosis and prognosis, we needed sophisticated tools, like a CT scanner, that we don’t usually use.

  I talked to Dorthe on the phone. She said, “If it doesn’t respond to treatment, improve, you have to ask yourself whether it would be right to let it live like that.”

  It was a difficult, endless subject. Indeed, what sort of life could that hedgehog have if it couldn’t walk or run?

  I also discussed it with the girl who’d found him. “If he can be saved, but can’t live on his own, I’ll keep him forever. I’ll make him a pen in my yard and feed him. And if I have to spoon-feed him every time, I will,” she said.

  I wished I could ask Salvo, “Would you rather live or die?” And most of all, I wished he could answer me.

  What a dilemma! In any case, I decided to try. It could be worth the effort, because Salvo’s condition was the effect of a cranial trauma. Also, in my twenty years of experience as a veterinarian, I’d seen other seemingly hopeless cases turn out surprisingly well. So for Salvo, I followed the protocol recommended by the Vale Wildlife Hospital for cases like his.

  I find that euthanasia is the last step, one I never want to take. Because it’s excruciating. I can only justify it when there’s not even a glimmer of hope. Only when the situation is really completely compromised. Only when there’s no other possible treatment, and only when it spares needless pain and suffering. Only out of mercy.

  I think that even a disabled hedgehog has a right to live. Sure, it might not be able to run and hunt and be independent, but if it’s not in physical pain, why stop it from living in a way that’s “different” but good nevertheless? The ideal would be to house these “dependent” hedgehogs with people willing to take care of them with attention and love. It’s true that a hedgehog, like any wild animal, should be free, but it’s also true that there are hedgehogs that choose to live their whole life in a single backyard.

  One of my dreams is to create a place just for disadvantaged hedgehogs, on that plot of land I’d bought that summer near Susanna’s “Paradise.” It’s another paradise.

  Yes, “one of my dreams,” because I have many others. For example, even more corners of nature
to preserve, for hedgehogs and other animals, and for oak trees, beech trees, chestnut trees, and hawthorn…One dream after another. A herd.

  I had to hand-feed Salvo myself for him to eat, or put the food right next to him, right under his nose.

  His ability to move was zero.

  That night when I went to bed, I took him with me so I could keep a closer eye on him. I didn’t want anything to happen to him without my noticing. I put some pillows on the opposite side of the bed so he wouldn’t fall. When I woke up the next morning, he was closer. He had dragged himself toward me. Maybe he was looking for warmth. I opened my eyes and saw his, meek and melancholy, staring at me.

  One night, as I’d feared, he grew markedly worse. He was dying. I was devastated. I called Dorthe. And she helped me through it. With her extraordinary sensitivity.

  She said, “Don’t let him die alone. Let him feel your love. Your warmth. Take him in your hands and pull him to your chest. Keep him there. Until he’s gone.”

  I put him next to my heart. I held him with both hands. I felt a terrible sensation, because I could truly, distinctly sense his life dwindling, leaving him. His head twitched yet again. For an instant, I’m sure of it, he looked at me. Then a sigh. Soft.

  His last.

  Poor, dear, little Salvo. We’d failed. Maybe he’d won me over because he was disabled. A handicapped hedgehog has something special.

  Overcome with despair, I called Dorthe again. And she was there to console me.

  At the end of August, Jo arrived. Another, even bigger challenge. She was a baby. Her back and hind legs were wounded. A dog had mauled her. As if that weren’t enough, she was also very small. Seventeen grams. Less than Ninna when I met her for the first time. Less than a silk handkerchief. Less than a veil. I snapped some photos and sent them to Giulia. She wrote: