For the first time in my life, I was the sole guardian of another living thing. I had help from my family but, ultimately, she was my responsibility. As a result, my relationship with her was very different from the ones I’d had with the fish and hamsters of my pre-teen years. Likewise, she wove her way into my identity like no other little creature had before. I became The Girl With The Hedgehog. Whenever I was stuck for something to say, or felt I wasn’t interesting enough, I could talk about her.
As it turned out, I was ill prepared for the utter joy and sheer volume of love that Chutney would bring into my world. I displayed my newfound delight on Facebook. I shared photos of her cute face and videos of her cute antics. They were popular, and I got a kick out of that. I developed a tradition of posting something every 12th of July, a day I dubbed her “Hoggiversary”.
By the time the third anniversary of her adoption rolled around, I’d decided not to share anything publicly. My Facebook updates, which began as a fun means of connection, had become a burden. For every person that understood my photos and videos as the hard-won highlights of year-round effort and dedication, there was another who made me realise I was perpetuating the myth of African pygmy hedgehogs as cute, low-maintenance playthings. Whenever the words, “I want one!” appeared in the comments, I’d feel obliged to churn out my spiel on the realities of caring for an exotic animal: the expensive set-up, the commitment needed to develop specialist knowledge, the patience needed to develop specialist skills, the constant worry, the day to day drudgery of cleaning a faeces-encrusted wheel, and so on. I decided it was better to only share my photos and videos with people who already knew. For her 2017 Hoggiversary, I sent a short clip to my immediate family and decided that was sufficient.
Chutney nearly made it to her next big milestone, but not quite. She slowed down significantly in 2018, finally reaching the end of her life on Wednesday the 11th of July, the day before her 4th Hoggiversary.
I have all sorts of thoughts and emotions from that time. I might write about them one day, but that day is not now. I will say that having a date marked by grief so closely neighbouring a day of celebration has not been without its challenges.
For the 12th of July 2019, I intended to write a Chutney-themed blog post. I can’t remember my motivation now. Commemoration? Celebration? Both? Whichever it was, I felt I owed it to her. When it came to it, I simply couldn’t do it. It was just too hard. I beat myself up over it. “Maybe next year,” I thought, but it didn’t happen next year, or the year after that.
It’s now 2022 and she’s been gone for as long as she was here. It feels like a good time to reflect and a good time to accept that, irrespective of dates, blog posts or social media updates, the 4 years she lived with us were unbelievably special. That will never change.
It would be foolish to think I could sum up exactly what she meant to me with a few squiggles on a page, but I would like to have a go.
Caring for Chutney was an absolute privilege. I cannot stress that enough. There are few things in my life for which I’m more proud. It’s an experience I will remember forever.
Chutney encouraged a playfulness of thought and a creativity of spirit that lifted me time and time again. She taught me to sit and watch. She inspired me. She helped me to wind down. She showed me the joy of silliness and how pleasure can be found in the simplest of places (the inside of a paper bag, for one).
Chutney brought out the best in me. I am forever changed for having known her.
Chutney was beautiful and irascible and I truly, truly loved her.
Before agreeing to take Chutney on, I gave great thought to the practicalities of caring for her. I wanted to be sure that she would never need rehoming again. What I didn’t appreciate was the extent of the gift that I was receiving; that I got to have her in my life until the end of her days. More than that, her impact would far outreach the days that she was with us.
We may have been her Forever Home, but she was our Forever Hog.