Even so, Marty told himself to be patient. “Porcupines and foxes do not mix,” he reminded himself. “Sooner or later Ereth will be alone again.” From a safe distance Marty watched to see where the quartet was going.
CHAPTER 12
The Other Den
IT WAS NIMBLE WHO led the way to the other den. Tumble and Flip followed on her heels. Last to come was Ereth. He could see right away why the foxes had been named the way they were. Each one of them moved through the snow in short, frolicking jumps. So energetic were they, they sometimes landed on one another’s backs, or collided. Ereth, who could do nothing but plod stolidly after them, kept crying, “Slow down. Wait for me!” He was terribly nervous. What if one of the kits put a foot into a trap? What if he did?
But whenever the weary Ereth caught up to them the kits were off again, leaving the porcupine to mumble disparaging remarks about foxes and the world in general.
Though the second den was only some twenty yards from the one he had first entered, Ereth never would have found it on his own. In fact, when he finally caught up with the kits they were hastily scraping back the snow from between two large boulders. Only when the snow was removed was a small hole revealed—smaller than the one that led into the other den.
“Is this it?” Ereth demanded, panting from exertion.
“It’s what we told you about,” Flip assured him.
“Are there others?” Ereth asked, eyeing the narrow entryway.
“Don’t know,” Tumble said. Without another word, he scurried down the hole. Nimble followed.
“Are . . . are you coming?” Flip asked.
“I’ll try,” Ereth replied.
“I’d like you to,” the young fox said shyly before he darted down the hole.
“Monkey muumuus,” Ereth grumbled, as he braced himself to follow.
No sooner was he inside the tunnel than he felt himself squeezed from all sides. Grunting and groaning, scraping and pushing at the dirt, he found it hard to breathe.
“Are you still coming?” he heard one of the foxes call.
“Of course I am!” Ereth shouted.
“Hurry up. There’s food down here!”
Ereth continued to kick and pull, gradually working his way forward. Suddenly Flip appeared in his face.
“Need some help?” he asked.
“Buzz off, you bowl of burro barf!” he cried. “I never need help! Never!”
“Sorry,” Flip said quickly and retreated, leaving Ereth to struggle.
Twenty minutes later the exhausted porcupine squeezed into the den, bringing with him a shower of pebbles and dirt.
The three foxes were on their bellies, holding bones in their paws and gnawing at them.
Nimble looked up. “What took you so long?” she asked.
Ereth only said, “Did you find something to eat?”
“A lot,” Tumble enthused, with his mouth full. “A really great half-eaten rabbit.”
“Would . . . would you like some?” Flip offered.
“No!” roared Ereth. Though famished, he could only think about sleep.
He looked around the new den. Slightly smaller than the first, it was the same messy, nasty-smelling kind of a place.
Without a word, the porcupine moved as far from the foxes as possible, then lay down. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced. “And I just want you to know, this is the worst birthday of my life.”
“What’s a birthday?” Flip asked his sister in a low voice.
“It’s the day you’re born,” Nimble explained.
“Oh, wow! Does that mean that Doormat was just born today?”
“No way,” Tumble said. “He’s got to be ancient.”
Ereth closed his eyes, curled up, and tried to act as if he were already asleep.
“Really? How old do you think he is?” Flip asked in a whisper.
“From the way he’s acting,” Tumble asserted with great authority, “I’d say two hundred years, at least.”
“Does that mean he’ll die soon?”
“Probably.”
“Shut up!” Ereth screamed.
For a moment there was silence.
“Sir,” Flip said in a small voice. “Mr. Perish?”
Ereth sighed. “I’m sleeping,” he said.
“Oh.”
A few quiet moments passed. Just as Ereth felt himself drifting off, he felt a nudge. He opened his eyes. The three foxes were standing next to him.
“What is it?” Ereth asked numbly.
Nimble said, “Mr. Earwig, when we sleep at night, Mom lets us snuggle up close to her. She even wraps her tail about us. It keeps us very warm.”
“Chewed over cow cuds,” Ereth mumbled. “Will this day never end?”
“What should we do?” Tumble asked.
“Have you even looked at my tail?” Ereth snapped.
“What about it?”
“It’s full of quills.”
“Are you completely covered with quills?” Flip asked.
Ereth hesitated. “No,” he admitted.
“Where aren’t you?” Tumble demanded.
“My belly.”
“Can we snuggle there?” Nimble asked.
“No!” Ereth roared.
“But we can’t sleep,” Tumble said after a moment. “Our mother . . .”
“I am not your mother!” Ereth shouted, turning his back to the foxes. “I’m a porcupine who wants to be left alone! Beat it!”
The foxes stared at him for a while. Then Flip turned and, with head bent low, trotted off to the farthest side of the den. Sighing, he flung himself down with his back to Ereth and curled up in a ball.
After a moment the other two followed their brother. In moments they were rolled up together like a flower bud.
Despite his exhaustion Ereth could not sleep. He kept thinking of all that had happened that day. “So help me,” he muttered, “this’ll be the last birthday I ever celebrate.”
He began to drift off, only to hear a sound: a long, sad sigh. He tried to ignore it, but more sighs followed. The foxes were whimpering.
“Barbecued bear beards,” Ereth swore to himself. Heaving himself up, he waddled over to where the foxes lay.
“Move over, you piebald pooper snoopers!”
He flung himself down and tried to flatten his quills as much as possible. Then he rolled over, exposing his soft, plump belly. Within moments he could feel first Flip, then Nimble, and, after a pause, Tumble push up against him, uttering sleepy sighs of comfort.
As he lay there the old porcupine’s mind drifted to visions of his own snug, private log. He thought of Poppy and Rye’s children. Those children were a nuisance too, constantly talking, asking him needless questions. “But,” he thought wistfully, “I never had to be in charge of them. And at the end of the day they always went away.”
“Baked birthday boozers,” Ereth managed to say before he succumbed to deep and needed sleep. “I’m trapped. Completely, utterly, miserably trapped.”
CHAPTER 13
Marty the Fisher
THE MORNING DAWNED as bright as ice. New snow lay thick, softening everything jagged, even as it absorbed almost every noise. In all the landscape the only sound to be heard was the high, piping dee-dee-dee of a tiny black-and-white chickadee flitting among the tree branches along the edges of Dimwood Forest.
That small sound was enough to wake Marty the Fisher from his sleep. He had gone to bed beneath a pile of old leaves he’d found heaped against a rock by the forest rim. Before burrowing in and falling asleep, he’d vowed to wake as early as possible, promising himself that on the morrow he would catch that very annoying Ereth.
In fact the fisher was more determined than ever to catch the old porcupine. He was not going to give up now.
When Marty had last seen Ereth—beneath the light of a midnight moon—the porcupine had been moving clumsily along the bluff in the wake of three tumbling young foxes. Even as Marty watched, the whole group had suddenly disappea
red—into a den, or so the fisher presumed.
Afterward, Marty spent a good amount of time trying to guess why Ereth was with the foxes in the first place. He decided it must have something to do with Leaper.
Quickly throwing off remnants of sleepiness, Marty crept silently along the forest fringe. When he saw an aspen tree with a thick branch that stretched over the open field, he climbed it, then moved along the branch as far as he could safely go. From this high vantage point he had a complete view of the field—and that included the bluff.
“Be patient . . .” Marty urged himself yet again. “Be very patient. Ereth is doomed.”
CHAPTER 14
The Kits
DEEP WITHIN THE FOX den it was not noise that aroused Ereth from his fitful sleep, but immense aggravation. “Snake-smell soup,” the porcupine protested as he recollected the appalling situation in which he’d placed himself.
Then he sensed his hunger. It seemed like forever since he’d eaten a decent meal. He had to get up. But when he made an attempt to move his cramped legs he only bumped into the three young foxes.
Slowly, not wanting to wake them, Ereth eased himself away from the leggy hugs of the kits. Once free, he shook himself all over—producing a soft rattling sound—then turned to look at the sleeping youngsters.
“Wanting me to be their mother!” Ereth shook his head violently. “Rabbit earwax! What I need to do is get out of here before they get up.”
Then and there Ereth made up his mind to head back to the log cabin before the trappers returned, have himself a feast of salt worthy of his efforts, then continue on. These kits could take care of themselves.
Moving as noiselessly as he was able, Ereth crept to the entryway. When he reached it he paused. Recalling how difficult it had been to get through when he came down into the den, he eyed the hole anxiously. But no sooner did he brace himself to go forward than a twinge of guilt held him back.
Murmuring “Phooey on being decent,” he turned to take one final look at the kits—just to make sure they were sleeping. To his surprise, Nimble had raised her head and was staring at him with sleepy eyes.
“Mr. Earwig, sir,” Nimble asked with a yawn, “are you going out?”
An indecisive Ereth stood by the entryway. The only response he could come up with was, “The name, banana brain, is Ereth.”
“Oh, right. I forgot. But, Ereth, are you going out?” Nimble asked again.
Ereth made a noncommittal grunt.
“I mean,” the young fox inquired, “will you be coming back?”
“’Course I will,” Ereth said gruffly. “Do you think I’d just abandon you?”
“I was only asking,” Nimble said with a friendly wag of her tail. She yawned, revealing white teeth, red tongue, and gullet.
Ereth said, “I was just thinking about . . . food.”
Nimble got up on all fours, stretched, and gave herself a shiver to loosen her stiff muscles. “Mr. Perish . . . I mean, Ereth . . . I think you’re too fat for the entryway. Would you like me to make it bigger? I’m pretty good at digging. That way you could come and go much more easily. You know, when you get us food.”
Ereth grimaced but said nothing.
The young fox trotted up to the tunnel and made her way up to the ground surface. Within moments Ereth could hear her scratching and digging furiously. Gradually, she worked her way back down. When she emerged her face and fur were covered with dirt.
“There!” she offered with a grin. “It’s a whole lot wider now.”
“Thanks,” Ereth grumbled as he moved toward the entryway. Pushing and shoving, he got through the tunnel with somewhat less difficulty than the night before.
Outside, the dazzling whiteness of snow, the cloudless sky, and the golden sun made him blink. The field before the bluff lay smooth and undisturbed. And at the far side of the field was the edge of Dimwood Forest.
Though Ereth looked at the forest trees longingly—and dreamed of the tender under-bark that he knew was there for the eating—he worried about the kits. “Where the blazing baboon balloons can I find them some food?” he asked himself with exasperation.
As he fretted, Nimble came out of the hole and sat beside him.
“Ereth, do you like snow?”
“No.”
The young fox thought about this, and then said, “Do you like anything?”
“Salt.”
After another interval, the fox asked, “Ereth . . .”
“What?”
“I may be wrong, but I don’t think you want to stay with us.”
Ereth made a noncommittal grunt.
“You know, it’ll be fine with us if you leave. I mean, I don’t think we need you.”
Ereth said, “You’re wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Ereth said, “youngsters don’t do well alone. You’re takers, not givers. If there’s no one to take from, you’ll die.”
“Oh, okay,” Nimble said agreeably.
“Look here, elephant ears,” Ereth suddenly barked, “I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat. I hate it. Just the thought of eating it makes me ill. So I don’t have the slightest idea how to go about getting the kind of food you want.”
“Mom used to go out into this field and listen.”
“Listen?”
“Oh, sure. She could hear the most amazing things. I mean, pretty much anything that moved. She was wonderful. There were crunchy voles and tasty mice—”
“Stop!” Ereth snapped.
Nimble turned. “What’s the matter?”
“No mice!”
“Are they bad for you?”
“Eat a mouse and you’ve had it,” Ereth snarled. “Worst food in the world for foxes. Or anyone else for that matter. One hundred percent poison.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know that.”
Side by side, the two stared at the snow-covered field.
Then Nimble suddenly whispered, “Ereth! There’s something moving right down there.”
“Where?”
“In the snow,” Nimble said. “At the bottom of the bluff. I’m pretty sure I can hear it.” She dropped into a crouch, belly low to the ground.
“It would be a whole lot better if you ate bark,” Ereth muttered.
Nimble was not listening. Ready to pounce, she began to move forward.
“I don’t want to watch,” Ereth said, feeling ill. With that he turned around and crept back down into the den.
The other two foxes had woken up.
“Where’s Nimble?” Tumble demanded right away.
“Outside. Getting food.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” groused Tumble, who bounded up the tunnel, leaving Ereth alone with Flip.
“Don’t you want to hunt for food too?” Ereth asked him.
“I don’t feel well.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I . . . I have a stomachache,” the fox said.
“Galloping goat giggles,” Ereth sneered. “Why do you have a stomachache?”
“I just do.”
“Well, that’s your problem, mustard mold. I have no idea what to do about it.”
“Can I come lie near you?” Flip asked.
“Do whatever you want.”
Flip came over to where Ereth was and stretched out, chin resting on his forepaws, large ears tilted forward, big eyes staring up at the porcupine.
Feeling uncomfortable under the gaze, Ereth shifted slightly.
“Mr. Ereth . . .” Flip said.
“What?”
“I’m . . . glad it was you who brought us the news about . . . Mom.”
“Oh, well, sure . . . fine,” Ereth replied gruffly.
Neither fox nor porcupine spoke for a while.
Flip sighed. “I figured out something,” he said.
“Yeah? What?”
“You don’t like us very much.”
“I do like you,” Ereth growled.
“Do you like us enough to stay with
us?”
“I told you I’d stay, didn’t I? But the minute your father gets back, I’m out of here.”
“Oh.” Flip wiggled a little closer to Ereth. “Mr. Ereth,” he said, “I like you.”
Ereth grunted. “Why?”
“You’re nice, but I don’t think you like it when I say that.”
“Shut up!” Ereth snapped.
Tumble popped down from the entryway. “Ereth!” he cried.
“What?”
“Nimble couldn’t catch that vole. So we’re really hungry. It’s your job to get us some food.”
CHAPTER 15
Chores
THE THREE FOXES sat side by side, tails wagging, tongues lolling, big eyes staring at Ereth.
“All right,” the porcupine said. “It’s perfectly obvious to anybody but a belching boomerang that there’s a whole lot to get done. That means you’ve got work to do.”
“Work?” Tumble asked, irritation in his voice. “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed, sludge foot,” Ereth snapped, “but there’s a need to collect food, and to clean the mess around here. Look at those bones scattered about. And the floor! Messy! We need to get the meat stink out. I can’t stand it. There’s your sleeping pile too. It needs to be made neat. Just because you hung around me last night doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen again. From now on—as long as I’m around—you’ll sleep on your side of the den, in your own bed. Am I making myself understood?”
The foxes stared at him blankly.
“All right then, who does what? What chores do you each have?”
The foxes exchanged puzzled looks.
“What’s the problem?” Ereth demanded. “All I’m asking is, who does what around here?”
“We don’t do any of that stuff,” Tumble said disdainfully.
“Moose midges on frog fudge!” Ereth barked. “All I’m asking is, who does what chores?”
Flip said, “Mr. Ereth, all we do is play. And eat.”
“And sleep late,” Nimble added.
“Then who the puppy pancakes does all the work around here?” Ereth demanded.
“Mom,” Nimble replied.
“Right,” Tumble said angrily. “So if you’re going to be our mother, you should be doing all that stuff too.”