Hedgehogs belong to Lily. She gets a new one pretty much every week as she loves dismembering them to later methodically gut them. Because of Lily’s background, she’s not a dog that would play with just any toy, so I remember how happy we were when she started playing with her soft toy (a different type of hedgehog, actually) for the first time. She seems to have stayed loyal to hedgehogs, she sleeps with them, lines them up when they are lucky to survive long enough to see their younger replacements-and she doesn’t share. She’s not bothered if Brian plays with any other toy (they have three boxes of them) but not hedgehogs. It’s the shape, the perfect ratio of soft, plush-like exterior to fluffy, spaghetti-shaped stuffing. They are challenging enough but not impossible to destroy.
We have a special relationship with hedgehogs in our house. I support the British Hedgehog Preservation Society, our garden is hedgehog-friendly (with food for them and the ‘hedgehog gate’ in our fencing). My husband’s nickname is Hedgehog and we simply love them. It’s only appropriate that Lily should love them too (despite the gory gutting procedure she puts them through).
I love it when my little girl, once a hoarder’s victim herself, is hoarding her hedgehogs as happy and safe as she deserves to be.