Any fears my friends had about me getting bored in the countryside were unfounded. It seems the wildlife and the locals have taken upon themselves to keep me entertained no matter what.
My day started rather well yesterday, I went quite nervously to a job interview, and was offered the job there and then. I came back to the school somewhat elated in the knowledge that Fox would now soon be able to join me. I got changed and then went to the outside urinals for a wee. There I noticed some big black loud flies, coming out from a hole where a water pipe stuck out. I was a bit worried (flies = magots =rotten flesh = dead animal) so I had a look. It was quite dark but sure enough, in a corner was a hedgehog. I poked it with a stick and got no reaction. Dead. I cursed Fox, who uncovered the hole and cleared it in the first place, leading to the unfortunate demise of this little animal. It must have fallen in the hole and was unable to get out. His fate had been sealed. And now I had to clean the mess before more flies and the stench of decomposed animal carcass set in.
But first I had a meeting with a woman from the tourist board to talk about possible grants for B&B's, the poor little creature wasn't going anywhere anyway. And in all honesty, I was in no hurry to deal with it.
Four hours later, I couldn't dodge the issue anymore. I armed myself with a shovel and two small brooms and headed for the hole. I thought I would pick up the hedgehog with the brooms, put the corpse on the shovel and then head for the back garden where I would toss it over the hedge in the adjacent field, far, far away from the house and the caravan. With wimpering sounds, I started. But the little animal, even dead, wouldn't make my gruesome task any easier. It was stuck. Its head was lodged in a small opening where it had tried to escape. Cursing Fox again, I realised I would have to touch the bloody thing, to grab it and dislodge it. I went to fetch some rags in the cellier and then braced myself for the wave of nausea that threatened to overcome me. I inhaled deeply, held my breath and went for it. I grabbed the hedgehog and the little fucker sprung to life. I screamed my usual girlish scream, jumped to my feet and backed right off.
It was no longer a question of playing "toss the dead hedgehog" but a rescue party. I took me 40 minutes to get it out. I had to break and bend the pipe (I was being very butch then and redeemed myself for my girlish screams) in order to get better access and dig underneath and then around it to obtain a better grip. The poor thing was in a sorry state, not too responsive. I fetched an unopened Round Up box that I knew contained a pipette, still holding it in my left hand, filled it with water and dropped some in his mouth. It struggled a bit, quite weakly. I got more rags and a carton box and settled it in there. I put some pâté in there too, with some water, covered the box and left poor Lazarus to recover.
You would think that this had been enough entertainment for a day, but mother nature thought otherwise and treated me with a show of her own. It started with constant lightning above the clouds, the sky looked like a nightclub (see videos below). The wind became stronger and things started to fly outside. I looked out to check on Lazarus and the cover of the cardboard box had been blown off. I took him inside with me and covered it again. The ground shaked each time the thunder rumbled and the lights in the caravan kept flickering. I felt like Dorothy, about to take to the sky, with a hedgehog in a sorry state instead of Toto. It started to pour down and the water crept all the way to the caravan's step. I didn't dare go to bed until the rain eased off, which was quite late.
Lazarus seems to have recover, I heard him move in his box during the night and this morning. I'll call a vet for advice and will release him tonight in the garden. Who said countryside living was boring?
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