If you grew up on the Beatrix Potter books, you’ll have the hedgehog firmly implanted in your mind as a much-loved part of British culture. 

How do I know that? I don’t, but if you say something authoritatively enough and if it’s not too improbable, you can generally get away with it. 

In fact, these days, even if it’s outright impossible but you’re leading a political party–

Yeah. It’s pretty grim out there. Don’t forget to demonstrate, write to any government representative you can, and vote first chance you get. To the extent that it’s safe, talk to your friends and neighbors about what’s happening in the world, because that’s part of the national conversation and you can’t know in advance what will make a difference. Within the limits of sanity, do whatever else you can think of. Short of assassination and its friends and relatives, of course. Whatever you think of its morality, assassination tends to be counterproductive.

Marginally relevant photo: I don’t have a photo of a hedgehog and draw the line at stealing someone else’s. So in the absence of a hedgehog, here’s a hedge. It’s that scratchy looking thing running along the bottom of the photo. Can’t quite make it out? That’s okay. Just trust me on this.

In the meantime, fuck it, let’s talk about hedgehogs: The hedgehog in the Beatrix Potter books is Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, a washerwoman who–

Oh, go read the books. I haven’t, which means I’d be wise not to give you a plot summary. She was cute. That’s all we need to know for now.

Useless bits of information

Hedgehogs are about 8 to 12 inches long and have spines that can pierce human skin. The spines can carry bacteria and other fun stuff, so although they’re not barbed like porcupine spines they still deliver an effective stay-away message. 

However well they’re armed, though, if you’re inclined to see hedgehogs as cute, thye’re cute. If you’re not inclined– Hey, eye of the beholder and all that. I’ve known someone to mistake one, at a quick glance, for a slow-moving, lumpy rat. 

Hedgehogs are endangered in Britain. They’re slow and dark and nocturnal, which leads drivers to run them over regularly. And this human habit of dividing otherwise fruitful (from a hedgehog’s point of view) land into fenced spaces is hard on them. Hedges are great–they forage around them happily, but hedgehogs are wingless and ladderless and walls defeat them. They can travel 2 kilometers in a night to feed, and they need to. 

In response, some people make holes at the base of their fences for hedgehogs to lumber through. One neighbor not only made a hole, she labeled it “hedgehog hole.” I’m sure that’s avoided all sorts of confusion over the years. 

Other people set out water and pet food for them, I’ve heard neighbors talk about hedgehog sightings. Some talk possessively about the hedgehogs that visit their patch of ground; they don’t just see a hedgehog, they have one. 

But fences aren’t the only reason hedgehogs are endangered.

Back in the good old days

The middle ages presented the hedgehog with a whole different set of challenges. Remember what I said about cuteness being in the eye of the beholder? Well, in the medieval era, people could look at a hedgehog and see a witch in disguise, because who wouldn’t want to lumber around the village at night and eat slugs? 

Sorry, that was me filtering information through a modern mind. Witches turned themselves into hedgehogs because that’s what witches did. And hedgehogs snuck into fields and stole milk from the cows’ udders. Given how little milk would fit inside a hedgehog, it’s a reminder of how close medieval people lived to hunger and outright famine. 

Hedgehogs are and were lactose intolerant, so if they’re going to steal something you’d expect milk to be low on the list, but never mind. Filter. Modern mind. Sorry, I can’t seem to stop doing that. 

Hedgehogs also stole fruit, and at least one medieval illustration shows a hedgehog carrying an apple by skewering it on its spines. The picture doesn’t include a set of directions for how to skewer the apple in the absence of hands because Ikea hadn’t been invented yet, so we’ll have to work that one out ourselves. 

Setting the witchcraft business aside, since that’s gone out of fashion, although I can’t promise that it’ll stay that way, we’re left with an animal that shares your habitat and is eating (or that you believe is eating) food you count on to feed your family. Humans have been wrestling with that scenario since we started eating, and it doesn’t bring out the sweetness in our nature.

In England, the Preservation of Grain Act of 1532 listed hedgehogs as vermin, along with a host of other animals. Parishes had to pay a bounty of 3 pence for each dead hedgehog someone brought in, and each parish had to meet a quota and could be fined if they didn’t. 

What was 3 pence worth? A 1532 pound was the equivalent of £734 today. There were 240 pence in a pound. Divide that by something, multiply the result by 3, consider the futility of human endeavor, make a cup of tea and sip it slowly while you remember those word problems in math class: If a train traveling east at 70 mph leaves Chicago at 8:14 p.m. and one leaving Hartford, Connecticut at the same time travels west at 48 mph, why are no hedgehogs native to the North American continent?  

You really don’t want me to calculate that for you, even if you think you do. Three pence was more than enough to provide an incentive to kill hedgehogs, and they remained on the vermin list for centuries.

Between 1660 and 1800, an estimated half a million hedgehogs were killed, which provides a hint to how they became endangered. Even after the act was repealed, people kept killing hedgehogs, especially on estates that were managed for hunting and shooting, because they’ll eat the eggs of ground-nesting birds, which had to be preserved so humans could come along and kill them. Hedgehogs also got–and continue to get–killed in traps set for foxes and badgers. 

But back to how cute they are

In 2016, having done no campaigning whatsoever, hedgehogs were voted the country’s favorite animal. Did they care? Probably no more than they care about the lettering on our local hedgehog hole, but that kind of sentimental attachment does keep local governments from offering a bounty for their spiny hides.