orange coloured teeth lengthen and we realise that he is fast becoming a very formidable little beastie. He is able now to waddle down to the pond as fast as his short, stumpy legs will carry him, and by clutching a half-submerged log, feast on the tender lily pads.
I stroked the back of a tame baby porcupine the other day, but I didn't feel any quills pushing through yet. This little fellow is three months old and very friendly. I gave him some green leaves and a red crab apple which he proceeded to stuff into his funny little mouth. He sat up neatly on his haunches and holding the apple in his little paws, gnawed it with his four yellow chisels as a baby might.
His track in the snow looks quite a bit like a baby's foot-prints, and his voice—(bless his little heart!)—well, I won't say it's very musical, but it's full of vitality. He squeals up and down the scale regardless of rhyme or rhythm in a frenzy of enjoyment that's all his very own. No one outside his own species could possibly understand it. Its very harshness expresses quills and claws and orange chisel teeth.
