An
interesting question, which I think is best answered by recalling a
recent incident. For those of you who don’t know, I have a companion
hedgehog named Timothy, whom I rescued from being culled for his
parasites when it emerged he was able to communicate effectively in
English. Timothy has helped promote my recently published book (all royalites to charity), and is
never far from my side. One day we were taking a stroll in the
Institute garden. I thought the walk might cheer him up, as he had been
exhibiting signs of sadness since the New Year. I broached the subject,
as we passed some wild daffodils, with a simple, nonchalant question. ‘Timothy, my
good friend. Are you a happy hedgehog?’
Timothy
stopped snuffling in the soil, turned his head towards my feet and
said, ‘Well, Dr McCrumble. I’ve been feeling a little maudlin, if truth
be told.’
‘What’s
wrong, exactly?’, I asked, acutely aware that hedgehogs are
particularly susceptible to dysthymia – a mood disorder that lasts for
up to 2 years in humans (equivalent to 30 hedgehog years!). Once
instigated, hedgehogs can become terribly withdrawn and refuse to
co-operate. If Timothy were suffering dysthymia, I’d probably have to,
er, let him go…
‘Well,
I suppose the problem is that I’ve become a bit lonely’, answered
Timothy, his deep voice carrying tones of melancholy. ‘I’m very
grateful for all you’ve done for me, but, well, hedgehogs don’t respond
very well to isolation. We have needs Dr McCrumble.’
I
saw the problem immediately. Spring was fast approaching, and with it,
Timothy’s mind had turned to thoughts of hedgehog love. ‘Wait here my
friend,’ I said boldly. ‘I have a plan that might just help.’ With
that, I took off into one of the neighbouring fields in search of a
mate for my lonely insectivore.
I
had to turn a few grumpy hedgehogs over to find a female, but
eventually I came across one that looked like she might enjoy Timothy’s
company. I returned as a triumphant cupid, and carried them both
towards a secluded part of the garden, overlooked only by a young
silver birch tree. ‘Have fun!’ I said breezily as I left them,
snout-to-snout, behind a clump of grass (even hedgehogs value their
privacy during intimate moments).
Two
hours later I returned to find Timothy alone. His greeting was loaded
with despondency, and I figured all had not gone well. Upon enquiring
what had happened, Timothy revealed to me that his companion had
demanded payment for services rendered, by way of six earth worms and
two slugs*. This, he explained, was because he was now an outcast from
hedgehog society, and thus no longer eligible for free-love**. He’d
paid up and enjoyed his brief dalliance, but was now struck with shame
that he’d resorted to such tactics just to find relief. ‘But I was
happy for a few minutes at least, Dr McCrumble’ said Timothy, as he
snuffled back towards his cage at the Institute.
‘I learnt important lessons today, dear’, I said to Dolores that evening whilst we tucked into our dinner.
‘Well done darling’, said my wife through a mouthful of stew. ‘What nuggets of knowledge did you acquire?’
‘I
learnt not only that hedgehogs practice the oldest profession in the
world, but also that happiness is a state-change brought on by a
transient elevation of mood irrespective of the source. It wasn’t the
payment that made Timothy experience feelings of joy, but a consensual
act involving the exchange of bodily fluids.’
‘Just
like every other bloke then,’ said my wife dryly. ‘A quick sniff and a
poke, and happiness is guaranteed. Maybe the payment actually dampened
the effect.’
‘Good grief Dolores, I think you’ve just hit the spot!’ I exclaimed. ‘If paying for things makes us less
happy, we should perhaps abolish money. I mean, let’s face it, money
can’t be a source of happiness when it is, in reality, the root of all
evil. QED, I think.’
----
*Standard Hedgehog Currency - equivalent to approx £15 (US$ 28) at 2007 prices.
**Behavioural
studies of wild hedgehog communities suggest that rutting is preceded
by a brief courtship without gifts or payment.