by Hugh Warwick
There was a room full of people in Denver ready to try to make me see the light, so Standing Bear and I packed up a carload of hedgehogs – ten of them in travel boxes across the back seats of his car. And not just any old car; for some reason Standing Bear has a fondness for very well-protected cars and this one weighs almost 3 tonnes and comes with a ‘class 2 protection package’ – which apparently means it is bulletproof. It used to belong to an (obviously nervous) diplomat.
We made it to the Double Tree Hotel in Denver just in time for Standing Bear to register his entrants in the show and prepare Buttercup for Olympic triumph. The obvious question here is, where did these hedgehogs come from? There are no native American hedgehogs. Despite flourishing there in the Miocene, they have been absent for around 5 million years.
There was a man in Nigeria who was involved in the export of exotic animals to the pet trade, mostly reptiles. In 1991 he was approached by some people who happened to have a crate full of hedgehogs. They claimed that their area was being overrun with starving hedgehogs and they were doing them a favour by finding them a new home. The man thought they looked cute and reckoned that other people might think so too, so he bought them at fifty cents a piece and shipped all 2,000 of them to New York. Where they sold, fast, through the wholesale trade – on to pet shops all over the country.
He kept buying all the hedgehogs he could get his hands on. Two species were coming to him, Atelerix albiventris and Atelerix algirus (Atelerix is a genus of hedgehogs made up of four species all found in Africa). The names are easy translations – the white-bellied, also known as the central African, and the Algerian hedgehogs. Quickly they became the latest must-have pet. He exported around 50,000 to the United States and reckons another 30,000 came from other distributors before the import of all wild animals from countries with Hoof and Mouth Disease was banned in 1994.
By that time hedgehogs had become a fad pet; a lot of money was being made. Even the support organizations were in on the capitalization of this little animal. ‘Your best returns are with the North American Hedgehog Association,’ trumpeted a leaflet.
The Washington Post headlined an article in August 1994 ‘Going Hedgehog Wild – the Latest, Not Always Legal, Fashion Pet’ and went on to give an idea of the economics – and how swiftly they change. A pet shop in Washington, DC, said they were selling about six a month at $188 – but that only a few months earlier they were fetching $500. This was a result of fading faddism coupled with increased supply from breeders. In fact, the paper had missed the peak. A year earlier there had been reports of breeding pairs selling for $4,500, and one ‘snowflake’ pair going for $5,500.
There is still a trade in hedgehogs, but it is on a much smaller scale and great riches are not to be gained. For example, it is possible to buy a quality hog from a reputable breeder for $150–$225, complete with 24/7 support and even, in some cases, free ‘baby-sitting’ for when the owner needs a holiday. And they have recently made an appearance in the UK, with headlines in May 2008 extolling the virtues of this ‘must-have pet’. Perhaps there will be another boom and bust here? If so the consequences could be serious, as unscrupulous (or dim) traders might try to pass off our resident hogs as African pets. And the very presence of a native hedgehog population will make the task of discarding an unwanted pet all the easier to stomach.
At least the US pet hedgehog fad did not go the way of Vietnamese potbellied pigs, which once sold for thousands of dollars, until the craze passed and they were being given away for free. I put this down to a slow emergence of common sense. ‘A pig is a pig is a pig . . . Keeping them in a house is next to impossible,’ explained the Humane Society.
The extreme figures being paid for hedgehogs help to explain what I uncovered when I started looking into this back in the UK. So keen were people to get their hands on these animals that at least two attempts were made to get hold of hedgehogs from England. Now, whether this was someone ignorant of the differences between the African species and our own, I don’t know; because I would really not be interested in spending too long too close to our beloved Tiggy in captivity.
The two species that formed the basis of the US breeding stock have evolved a highly efficient strategy for coping with times when water is scarce. They do not waste water, absorbing as much as possible from their food as it passes through their intestines. Our hedgehogs, on the other hand, come from a much wetter environment and as such can be more casual about the amount of water they absorb. The significance of that physiological insight is that our hedgehogs tend to have wetter and smellier faeces.
I am not sure how malleable our hedgehogs are either. While there are a few stories of hedgehogs becoming tame, I find it hard to imagine any of the ones I have worked with sitting quite so comfortably in the hands and pockets of adoring people. Though there were a couple of stories reported by the British nineteenth-century naturalist John Wood. In his 1870 publication, Natural History Rambles: Lane and Field, he states, ‘It can be easily tamed, and is a great help in houses which are much infested with cockroaches. Being nocturnal in its habits like the cockroaches, it makes great havoc with them at night, and really needs little other food.’
And in his 1903 book, Petland Revisited, he relates this remarkable tale of tameness. The hedgehog would
run around the table, stopping before each person, and asking to be fed. If refused, he used to frown . . . and with an angry snort he would pass on to the next person.
One day his sensitive nostrils detected an unknown scent. He quested about until he discovered a tumbler filled with hot negus.* Some of it was offered to him in a spoon, and he took to it so kindly that before long he could not walk, and I had to carry him to bed. Next day, when some negus was offered to him, he refused it indignantly.
Though alcohol wasn’t available for the contestants at IHOG, I was intrigued to find that hedgehog massage was on offer. This must be one of the greatest challenges facing a masseuse. How do you massage a hedgehog? There is a whole series of strokes that Vicky McLean from Oregon is convinced improve the quality of life of the recipients. Effleurage, pettrissage, pincer palpation, passive stretch, friction and hydrotherapy all play a part, just as they do in human encounters. The combination of stroking, stretching, pressing and rubbing helps to relieve the stiffness that occurs in debilitated hogs.
Another technique that has been used with apparent success by vet Priscilla Dressen is acupuncture. I would really like to see a photograph of that in action – let the prickler be prickled.
The Official Booklet of Standards for showing hedgehogs dictates what is a perfect-looking hedgehog and presents an almost sinister eugenicist vision:
Hedgehogs are cute, friendly and have an appeal that is truly unique. However, they do have certain physical characteristics that can be improved upon. As an example, being an insectivore, there is a natural tendency for them to have narrow heads and faces. By widening the head and shortening the face, the rest of the body will naturally follow. The animal’s stance will widen . . . This will create a far more attractive animal that should, theoretically, have the capacity to birth larger litters.
The standards also define the appearance of hedgehogs, splitting them into seven classes. The International Hedgehog Association describes these as: standard (grey-ish), apricot (pale with hint of orangey-beige), snowflake (a dusting of white spines among pale banded spines), white, albino, pinto (piebald) and AOC (any other colours). A bit like a paint chart, but harder to apply to the wall.
And then the competition began. Owners took their charges up on to the stage and placed them on tables, facing the audience. The judge spent considerable time assessing the qualities of each hedgehog – how do they match up to the exacting standards laid down by the IHA? Points are given for the quality of body shape (‘the rump is to be spherical over the top with a straight drop to the skirt’); weight (‘obese animals will be disqualified’); colour; ears (‘to be large and well spaced’); face (‘shall proceed fr
om the quill line to the nose in as straight a line as possible’) and temperament.
It is the last of these that proved my downfall when I got roped into helping out showing a hedgehog. The adult female pinto category had just two entries, both owned by a breeder called Floyd. One was a sure winner; the other was handed to me. Apparently it is better to win by merit rather than by being the sole contender. So I was given Katrina. I felt that something was not right – everyone else seemed to have hedgehogs that lay calmly in their hands, or would actively enjoy a little tummy tickle. Katrina fizzed like a cartoon bomb, ready to explode. And in case I had not got the message, she persisted in little jumps, trying to impale her spines into my hand. I placed her carefully on the table in front of a room full of grinning spectators. Floyd’s little girl was being cute and charming. Katrina resolutely refused to unroll and the judge looked at me rather pityingly.
Needless to say, we lost. Seems like the audience was in on the joke, though, getting the Brit up on stage with the grumpiest hedgehog in the USA. Perhaps that is why I still failed to ‘get it’ – I could not see the attraction. Are they trying to create a new domesticated species or breed wild hedgehogs with accommodating personalities? I like my hedgehogs wild, grumpy and outdoors.
But attraction there is and it bites deep. In fact, it seems to have a more powerful hold on people than more obviously charismatic pets, such as dogs. Owners talked about how they had pets of many species but had never felt as passionate as they did about hedgehogs. I certainly found, from talking to a lot of people at the show, that hedgehogs have a distinct practical advantage over many other pets – very few people express any allergies to hedgehogs. People who have craved pets but been unable to tolerate all manner of animals seem able to live with a hedgehog. Additionally, they are small and undemanding. Apparently there are many people who are unable to attend the show because of infirmity and hedgehogs are just the perfect pet for them. They do not need walking; they are happy to run on a wheel and are also, as I saw, happy to display behaviour that is interpretable as affection. They will snuggle up into nooks and corners, armpits and pockets, and remain relaxed in the company of familiar people.
Eventually there had to be a winner. Or more accurately, two winners, as there is a tradition of holding two shows, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. For the record, the winners of the Rocky Mountain Hedgehog Show 2007 were:
Morning
Grand Champion: Ying Yang (Floyd Aprill)
Reserve Grand Champion: Showtyme aka ‘Brenda’s Pinto’
(Brenda Sandoval)
Afternoon
Grand Champion: Bindi Sue (Pat Storm)
Reserve Grand Champion: Fannie Mae
(Frances and Andrew Beamon)
The excitement of the announcement of the grand champion over, there could have been an anticlimax, but there was the banquet to look forward to. Much more than just a meal, this has become a ritual in hedgehogging circles.
After eating, and just before the solemn playing of ‘The Music of the Night’ from Phantom of the Opera (an important component of the ceremony; a paean to nocturnal life), someone was busily putting boxes of paper tissues on all the tables. I really thought we were going to be in for a little of the sorts of tears that accompany Charles Dibdin’s ‘Tom Bowling’ every year at the Last Night of the Proms – that is, tears with the tongue stuffed firmly into the cheek, while clutching at the provided handkerchiefs.
Then came the evening’s speaker, Dawn firobel. Dawn has been a leading breeder of hedgehogs, but has redefined herself as an animal communicator. And it was in that capacity she was speaking.
She explained how we all have the capacity to speak to animals – well, I knew that. We used to have a dog, a beautiful Labrador called Brandy. I could speak to him for hours. Out in the Welsh hills I would say, ‘Come here, Brandy,’ many, many times, but he never listened. Apparently I was missing the point a little. Dawn believes that we all have an ability to communicate telepathically with animals.
To work out what she should say at the show, she had gone to her hedgehog matriarch – Sweet Blessing – and asked her for advice. The message was simple: ‘Just go and ask the other hedgehogs what they would like to say to their people.’ And that is what Dawn gave us, a series of greetings from the spiky companions of many of the people in the room.
‘Don’t sweat the small stuff,’ said Greta. ‘Don’t be afraid to try something new,’ said Munchkin. ‘More sex,’ was the blunt request from Aldebaron. Keiki wanted to be ‘upside down; sometimes you need to get a different view’. Sweet Blessing concluded this portion of the event by saying we should all ‘worry less, lighten up, challenge yourselves and have more fun’.
What are they feeding their hedgehogs? Fortune cookies?
Later I chatted with Dawn. She began by explaining how the pet-keeping craze started, and had a wonderful theory. ‘Initially people who had hedgehogs were computer geeks,’ she explained. ‘People who were up all night and just a bit strange wanted a pet like them – prickly exterior, soft interior. I should know; I was a computer geek.’
Dawn describes herself as ‘clairaudient’, which means she can talk to and hear hedgehogs. And she is not alone. There is a thriving industry of animal communicators, pet psychics who can find out why Flopsy rabbit is so grumpy or how Rover is coping with his death. If you are an animal communicator you can list yourself on the animaltalk.net website for $100 a year, and there are hundreds who do. I randomly picked a few – you can get a telephone consultation for $45 an hour. Another offers the Healthy Pet, Happy Home Program for just $40 a month for twelve months. To get trained up as a communicator there is a series of courses you can take – and I had a look at one set of options. I have missed out many of the sessions, but this is clearly not something to enter into on a whim:
Advanced 3, fee: $550
Advanced 5, fee: $1,100
Advanced 8, fee: $1,200
And these do not include accommodation, but often have a requirement that you have undertaken the other stages before you can progress to the next. The final three courses are essentially permissions to teach the first three courses – creating quite a nice little cycle.
Dawn describes how she can use the information given to her by a hedgehog to then get a vet to help treat them better. Apparently it is just like ESP. She has communicated with a lot of different species but ‘hedgehogs really take on a lot for their owners. They are also the ones most likely to hang around after they die and come back as a hedgehog ghost.’
I had overheard Dawn at the show as she described what she had been told by a particular hedgehog. She explained to the owners that part of the trouble the couple were having with their hedgehog came from the visits of their last hedgehog, who returns and sits beside her and tells her how he was always jealous of the attention the cat received.
Dawn has delved further into hedgehog awareness and reports that they ‘call themselves “star children”. They think they came from the stars – I don’t know where it came from and it doesn’t make sense to those of us here, but it is a common view among hedgehogs that they are a very ancient being. So that is why they choose the people they do to get good care and continue the line.’
I would hate it if people thought I was not an open-minded sort, I really like to think I am, but I did once see some graffiti that seems appropriate: ‘Be open-minded, but not so open that your brain falls out.’
And then came the Rainbow Bridge Ceremony.
There is a problem. Pet hedgehogs have a bad habit of starting to wobble, gradually losing motor function until they die. Wobbly Hedgehog Syndrome may sound like a joke, but the results are horrible. No hedgehog has survived WHS, which acts a little like multiple sclerosis, and it seems to be almost entirely restricted to pet hedgehogs in America.
It first emerged soon after the import of hedgehogs was prohibited and has now been identified as an inherited condition, amplified by avaricious breeding. Money w
as being raised at this event to help find a cure and you could buy a purple and green ribbon to show how much you cared. But there is an additional problem.
A key characteristic for a successful ‘show hedgehog’ is a calm temperament. Now, it is not natural for a hedgehog to be calm at a hedgehog show – trust me, I was there and it is not even natural for a human to be calm at such an event. Any self-respecting wild animal is going to want to hide away from the smells, noise and lights. Perhaps they might have become accustomed to being handled by one person, but to then tolerate a stranger peering up their rear end . . . would you like that?
Winning hedgehogs are calm, unwild and, it now seems, exhibiting a common feature of WHS, as it is always the calm ones that are struck down with the disease. So the desire to breed the wildness out of the hedgehog is perpetuating a miserable condition. Of course, hedgehogs are not alone in this. The desire to create a more servile-looking German shepherd dog resulted in the selection for hip dysplasia.
But none of that mattered as the lights dimmed. The Rainbow Bridge Ceremony is a time when the many hedgehog lovers who have lost their loved ones, their little kids, as many were prone to calling them, get a chance to share their very real grief.
Though I did not know that as it began and was surprised by the palpable shift in the atmosphere. People were reaching for tissues, shifting closer to friends, steeling themselves.
The projector was ready, lights dimmed and emotional Muzak commenced. First there was a short introduction that set the tone for the next twenty minutes:
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.