Poppy, wishing she knew what kind of animal she was facing, could only whisper, “It’s just me, sir.”
“The name is Ereth,” the animal snapped. “Erethizon Dorsatum. But I just get called Ereth. What’s more, I’m a grump and you just woke me up, so don’t try to slick me down with slug slop.”
“I’m truly sorry I woke you, Mr. Ereth,” Poppy said.
“What are those things on your head,” the beast growled, “flat balloons or ears? The name is Ereth. E-R-E-T-H! And stop your barking.”
“Please . . . Ereth, it’s not me barking.”
“Then who the frog flip is making that racket?”
“It’s a fox at the entrance to the log.”
“Some idiot friend of yours?”
“Oh no, sir. Not my friend.”
“Who the dung beetle bit are you, anyway?” Ereth suddenly demanded. “You’re so small I can hardly see you.”
“I’m a deer mouse. A girl deer mouse.”
“I didn’t ask what you are. I don’t give bug’s bathwater about that. I asked for your name.”
“Poppy.”
“Poppy? What kind of idiotic name is that?”
“Please, it’s a family tradition. We’re named after flowers and fruits.”
“Erethizon Dorsatum is my name. Latin name. But you kids don’t learn Latin anymore, do you?”
“I don’t know what Latin is, sir, I mean, Ereth.”
The beast sniffed loudly. “The whole forest is full of idiots. Like that fox.”
During this conversation the fox had continued to bark and whine, occasionally even digging furiously at the log entrance.
“Pop, fop, snop,” Ereth cried, “or whatever your idiot name is, would you tell that fox to shut up!”
“It’s Poppy. And if I tell him, I don’t think he will.”
“Why not?”
“He wants to eat me,” Poppy said faintly.
“Eat you?”
“Yes.”
“Jerk,” Ereth said scornfully. “But then all meat eaters are jerks. Ever notice that? I mean, did you ever meet a meat eater who wasn’t loud and aggressive? Did you? Never mind, just get out of here and leave me alone.”
“I can’t,” Poppy cried.
“Why the bat bilge can’t you?”
“I just told you,” Poppy pleaded. “If I go out, he’ll eat me.”
“Look here,” Ereth cried, “whatever your idiot name is—don’t you have any guts?”
“Please, it’s Poppy.”
“Oh, weasel wonk, I don’t care what it is. All I’m saying is, if a creature can’t take care of himself, he has no business sneaking into my house, waking an old coot like me in the middle of the day, and asking for my help.”
“I never asked you for your help,” an exasperated Poppy replied. “Can’t you understand anything? That fox chased me. Do you think I like being in here? It stinks!”
Ereth blinked. “Oh, all right,” he growled. “I suppose I better talk some sense into that meat mauler. Just get out of my way!” he snarled as he began to waddle forward. “It’s your lookout, not mine, if you get pricked by one of my quills.”
Poppy’s heart clutched. “Did . . . did you say . . . quills?” she stammered.
“Of course I said quills, fuzzball!”
“Yes . . . but . . .”
“But what?”
Poppy was dizzy with fear. Her knees shook. She found it hard to swallow. “What are you?”
“Don’t you have eyes?” Ereth screeched. “Or are those spots on your face buttons? I’m a porcupine!”
Porcupine! The word turned Poppy numb. She could hardly breathe. She could not think.
“Floppy or Ploppy,” Ereth bellowed, “will you get your flea-flicking self out of my way!”
Poppy dived against the pulpy wall of the log and squeezed herself flat to allow Ereth room. Even so, as the porcupine waddled by, his quills raked across her belly like a rusty comb. Never—despite all she’d confronted—had Poppy been so terrified.
Ereth, however, continued to make his ponderous way toward the log’s entrance, where the fox was still barking and yelping.
Poppy felt sure that once the fox was disposed of, the prickly monster would turn on her. First he would shoot her with his quills. Next he would stab her. Then he would skewer her. Finally he would chop her into tiny bits and eat her!
For a moment Poppy considered offering herself to the fox. If the choice was between being swallowed in one gulp or being tortured by this porcupine, surely death by fox would be preferable.
Poppy stared into the darkness of the log. Perhaps there was an escape hole. But, frozen by the terror of her predicament, she could not move. Instead, her eyes turned toward the entrance, certain she was about to witness some ghastly carnage.
Sure enough, when Ereth reached the log opening, Poppy heard him screech, “Fox, you braying bag of bones, what’s all this hullabaloo? Can’t an old creature get some quiet in his own home?”
“I’m sorry, Ereth,” Fox returned in a voice that was, at best, sniveling. “I didn’t know you were here. Just trying to grab a mouse who ran into your place. A snack. Nothing more. Not trying to bother you. No harm meant. Just a midday nibble.”
“Don’t nag me about your nibbles, you nitwit,” Ereth bellowed. “When I say get lost, I mean do it!”
“Now, Ereth, let’s be—”
Fox did not finish the sentence. Instead, Poppy heard Ereth cry, “I said, Get, broom tail!” This order was followed by a whack, a yelp of pain, and a frantic scramble of paws, concluding with a barking and whining that grew faint with amazing rapidity.
Poppy was sure the fox was being devoured. But more frightening still, she saw the porcupine wheel about and start to waddle back down the log in her direction. Poppy panicked. She turned and fled toward her one hope of escape, the log’s other end.
The farther into the log Poppy went, the more foul-smelling it became. Worse, she had increasing difficulty seeing where she was going. Sure enough, she slammed into the log’s far end. There was no escape hole.
Stunned and unsteady on her feet, heart beating so hard she was sure it would burst, a terrified Poppy turned to confront the porcupine. Her one remaining hope was to try and slip by the beast. Though Poppy knew she risked a severe shredding, she was certain it was her only chance.
“Slop, Pop, or Bebop,” the porcupine cried, “where the snake sweat are you? Come out of
