Ereth's Birthday

was good, he kept telling himself, to be on the move. Good to have no responsibilities other than himself. He tried to put his thoughts on the salt and how it would taste. He thought too about home—wherever that might be. Indeed, the old porcupine thought of many things, but never once did he allow himself to think of the kits any longer than the moment it took to regret such thoughts. All that, he insisted to himself, was over and done with. Finished. Only once did he slip from his mental discipline, when he suddenly shouted, “They didn’t even say thank you!” That said, he vowed to say no more. It was done. Gone. Finished. The end.

The porcupine pushed through the woods at a steady clip. The snow had receded, leaving great patches of brown, cold earth. The pine-scented air was bright and crisp, filled with buoyant energy.

When Ereth decided he had gone far enough to avoid the field and the bluff, he swung southwest, trusting that at some point he would reach the shores of Long Lake.

It was not till late afternoon that he rested again. Early winter shadows, like grasping paws, extended a stealthy hold over what remained of the crusty white snow.

The porcupine fueled himself with a quick chew of some bark, then set off again. “That lake should be near,” he told himself, trying to ignore his exhaustion.

As he hurried, there were a few times—despite his earlier resolve—that he caught himself thinking about the kits again. What had they done all day? Had they eaten well? Did they do their chores? Had they thought about him? Then, with a snarl and a muttered, “Salivating shrew slop,” he angrily dismissed such thoughts and willed himself to concentrate on the salt that soon would be his.

He reached the lake at twilight. In the dim light its surface lay white and frozen. Ereth stared at it. It looked so cold and deserted.

Suddenly, tears began to flow. “Oh, why did I ever leave home?” he asked himself. “Because of my birthday,” he recalled. “No one paid any attention to me. I was forced to go and get a present for myself. And look what’s happened! Well, that’ll be my last birthday.

“That’ll teach ’em!” he said out loud with a savage bite in his voice.

“Salt,” he whispered with desperation, “I must get some salt.”

With new urgency, Ereth wheeled about and hurried on. Keeping the lake to his right, he skirted the shore. Sometimes, as he scooted across low, beach-like areas, the going was easy. At other times the shore was irregular or boggy, clotted with old brambles. In those places he had to push his way through or take long detours. “Why is it always so hard to get where you want to go?” he complained.

Night wore on. The white moon rose with brilliant promise, only to be obscured by clouds. A wind rattled the bare branches like old bones. Around midnight, snow began to fall. Fearful that if he stopped he might never move again, Ereth pressed on. The snow piled up quickly, making the going slower. When dawn came, gray and hard, mantled by still-falling snow, he dared not rest.

Then, at last Ereth saw the cabin. By early morning’s thin light it seemed little more than a dark lump on the snow-filled landscape. No lights were on, though Ereth reminded himself that was no proof the hunters weren’t there. It was still early. The humans might be sleeping.

He sniffed the air, trying to detect any hint of burning wood. None.

Emboldened, Ereth edged closer to the cabin. He continually looked about, seeking some sign, any sign, that would suggest the presence of people.

There were no footprints, but new snow would have covered them. Briefly, he tried to calculate the time since he’d seen the hunters on the field. Was it two weeks ago? A month?

In the growing daylight he scrambled under the cabin and peered around. No snowmobile. That, he decided, was a good sign.

Then he caught sight of the box in which he had seen the traps and was filled with revulsion. Even so, he crept forward, hoisted himself up, and peered inside. The box was empty.

Had the humans come back and set the remaining traps? Or had they returned and taken the traps away with them?

Cautiously, Ereth crept out from under the cabin and worked his way to the front porch.

He went up the steps and put his nose to the doorjamb. A tremor of excitement coursed through him. The smell of salt was unmistakable. It was still there! His heart hammered. Oh, if only he could have some! So much would be mended!

He crawled up to the window, the one he had previously knocked in. Not only was glass back in place, bars had been placed over it. One glance and a disappointed Ereth knew there was no way he could get through it.

He dropped down and butted his head against the door. It would not give. Frantic, he raced down the steps and around the cabin, searching for any way to get inside. He found none. He even plunged under the cabin in hopes he might discover an entry there. Once again he was thwarted.

“Hit the puke switch and duck!” he shouted. “It’s not fair. I deserve better. I’ve been treated badly. I should get something!”

Furious, feeling nothing but the cruel injustice of the world, he raced back to the front porch. Maybe he had given up on the window too quickly. In great haste, he crawled up and balanced himself on the windowsill. Perched precariously, he clutched the bars and tried to rattle them as if he were in a cage and trying to get out. The bars held. Increasingly desperate, he reached through the bars and pressed against the window itself. It would not budge.

Thoroughly defeated, he turned around. Only then did he see that right below him on the porch was another animal. He was about three feet in length