"Quills in the Dark" - non-fiction

I sensed it before Max did. A rustling in the bushes. A snap of a twig. A muffled crackling sound. Max lifted his head, assumed his full-alert, ready-to-attack mode, and strained at his leash. A final movement, and then it burst into the open. A porcupine, determined to escape after encountering Max and me in the dark.

It was five in the morning, our forest path lit by the waning moon and a scatter of the night’s last stars. I was leading Max on his pre-dawn walk, necessitated by my having to leave shortly to catch the first train to my job in Tel Aviv. Max had already done his ‘business’ and we were on the return journey, back to the streetlights of civilization leading to my home in our small community outside Jerusalem. And then the porcupine came into view.

With the erect quills on its back, the animal was as tall as Max, a mid-size mixed-breed dog. We see porcupines nearly every morning. Add that to the jackals and wild boars we meet from time to time, a bounty of wildlife in the forested hills near my home rarely seen in daylight. I may be crazy for walking my dog in the pitch-black hours, but these unexpected encounters in nature fascinate me. And they thrill Max as well.

I know to stay clear of porcupines; they can attack when threatened. Several months ago, a man in northern Israel nearly lost his life after being stabbed in his arms and legs with 41 quills. Porcupines are Israel’s largest rodent and use their quills in defense. They don’t actually shoot them, I’ve learned, but it’s best to stay as far away as possible.

There’s another reason the presence of porcupines irks me. I recently planted a small vegetable patch in my backyard, and had already harvested cucumbers, with tomatoes soon to follow. At summer’s end, I was excited to plant my first lettuce seedlings, but overnight, they were eaten down to their tiny stems. Basel and flowers also lost their leaves, and I assumed nocturnal porcupines were the culprits responsible for the damage.

Today’s porcupine ran off into the brush, sending Max into a frenzy of barking as I tightened my grip on his leash. Before I knew it, the creature had vanished into the dense thicket of hillside undergrowth as if it had never been. Max and I continued our walk, with him sniffing for traces of the animal’s scent and occasionally lifting his leg to mark his territory.

More rustling near the path. This time Max saw the porcupine before me. He struggled to break loose from his leash, to run down the creature just as he chases the stray cats on our street. Within seconds, it was gone, following the trail of its partner. Max calmed down, and we headed for home.

Twenty minutes later, I finished my breakfast and filled Max’s water bowl. He had enough food to get through the day, and I patted his head before locking the front door behind me. My wife would care for him until I returned from work, but her walks with the dog would be in bright daylight.

I got into my car and started the motor for the drive to the train station. I adjusted the mirror and began to pull out of my parking spot when a dash of movement caught my eye.

A lone porcupine darted in front of the car, disappearing into the bushes on the far side of the street. Too bad I didn’t have my phone ready to snap a picture of the wayward animal. No worries. Max and I were bound to meet more porcupines on our next pre-dawn walk.

Originally published in The Loch Raven Review.