The first porcupine we ever saw was in October of 2008, according to the nature logbook we keep here on the farm. We were taking an autumn walk in the hayfield, and we were astonished by the porcupine. Such a majestic bristly silvery self! It seemed less impressed by us, as it slowly wandered away.
Years later, we found the second porcupine in the woodchuck trap in our garden. The closer we got, the bigger the porcupine looked, all puffed up in its black and white glory. We opened the trap, and this porcupine waddled away as fast as a porcupine can. Then we picked up the pretty little quills from under the trap and put them on our mantle.
The third porcupine we didn't actually see. We only saw its quills in the muzzle and fetlock of our overly curious draft horse Moon. For some reason that event didn't make it into the logbook, and we can't remember if we got the quills out, or had to call the vet. That time we did not put the pretty little quills on our mantle.
The fourth porcupine appeared this fall, when I was taking an evening walk with our farm pooch through the fields. My, I thought, that is a strange dark pile of horse manure. Then the pile moved and I realized it was a cute little porcupine, nearly all black, and wondering what I was doing in its field.
Happily, the pooch did not spy the porcupine, and we took the long way around. The next evening we took a walk about the same time in about the same place. Apparently porcupines are creatures of habit, just as people and pooches are. There was my prickly little friend again. This time my dog was right nearby, and there was no stopping him.
The pooch bounced and barked in a gleeful ring around the porcupine, who was revolving in slow and ever more bristly circles to keep the dog at bay. Meanwhile, I was issuing every command this dog has ever learned in daily training sessions and eight (yes, eight!) training classes. I used my commands in a friendly fashion, a stern fashion, a desperate fashion. The pooch merrily bounced and barked.
It happened to be a Sunday evening, and my fellow was away, and the next day was a holiday, and I did not want a dog full of quills, no indeed. I was carrying a 15 foot dog lead, which has a small snap on the end, and I swung that snap in the dog's direction. The bonk distracted him for the seconds I needed to get hold of him. Then I marched him away.
The next day I avoided the hayfield altogether, and we did not see the little porcupine. Instead my pooch and I went for a nice walk down the shady lane, where we came upon an enormous porcupine.
Bounce, bounce, bark, bark, said my pooch.
Cut it out, right now, said the porcupine.
Am I glad I have the lead attached to you today, said I, to the dog. I stepped on the end of the lead, the dog stopped, and the porcupine skedaddled away over the stone wall.
But soon enough, on another walk, another evening – a Sunday evening, when we have company – my pooch decides to go up the hill by himself, which is unusual. Hmm, I think, I wonder what that's about.
Bark, bark, bark! I hear. I sigh, and trudge up the hill. The barking stops. Good, I think, the porcupine went under the busted hayloader, and the dog is trying to get under the hayloader too.
Alas, the porcupine is slowly walking away, and my pooch is on the ground, rubbing his muzzle with his paws. Oh, he is a very sad pooch, with a mouthful of quills. Oh, we hope he has learned the Lesson of Porcupine.
Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Oct 15 - Oct 21, 2025