Running Wild

Running Wild

The sun sets on the Sahara, blood red seeping into tangerine, as I stumble out of bed. I’m rarely up early enough to see a sunset but something woke me, and now I’m too curious to sleep. My belly is rumbling and I’m in search of a nibble. What did I hear that pulled me from slumber? Sounded like a flock of geese but the earth shook above my head so it couldn’t have been fowl. There it is again, chattering.

I scurry faster, my long quills sway with the movement of my hips. Better keep to the shadows, maybe I’ll find some grubs on the way. Rocks and logs block my path, but I find a fat worm as I shove a heavy hunk of wood out of my way. It squishes between my teeth, and I peel off a strip of bark to crunch as I continue onward.

There, ahead, grazing in a group is a handful of antelopes. The sun has dipped behind the hills, they are black in silhouette. Scooting closer, I huddle behind a bush and listen.

“Oh! I just can’t wait. The Sahara Skirmish is only a moon cycle away!” one of them says around a mouthful of grass.

“I know! We need to get ready! I hear the zebras have been training since the last rain,” says another, flicking her tail at an invisible fly. Without another word, the herd leaps forward, their thin legs kicking gracefully. I watch as they run in perfect rotation, hides glistening in the fading light. Sounds of laughter fade as they crest a hill and disappear.

What would it feel like to glide on long legs, like birds of the land, fast and free? Suddenly, I need to know. All I’ve ever done is waddle or, at best, scamper. I want to run, feel the wind in my quills. Why not me? They said the race was a moon cycle away.

I’ll start tomorrow.

I didn’t sleep well as I anticipated the drastic change in my routine. What am I thinking? This is ridiculous! Then I thought, how hard can it be? Of course, I can do it! Back and forth my mind argued until the sun finally set, and I put my paw where my mouth was and took the first step out of my comfortable hollow.

I stuff a bunch of berries into my cheeks, nourishment for the grind. Then I wrap a strip of tall, green grass around my head to keep the quills out of my eyes. I check my surroundings, no one in sight. The last thing I need is an audience, discretion and privacy, please. Well, what have I got to lose? Must be time to go. Hold on, first I need to stretch. One at a time, I lengthen my legs back then to the side, and now forward. Yes, feels good, I should do that more often!

Listening closely, I hear the sounds of the Sahara at sundown. Tuning in, I pick up the rhythm and push off, hustling like the time I was chased by a wildcat. Well, maybe not that fast. Five, six, seven strides.

Look at me go!

Ow! I have to stop. Pain is shooting up my ankles. I’ll just walk it off. Not surprising, I tell myself.  Take it easy. Be good to yourself. Okay, little faster now; I feel my plumes bobbing and swaying as my tummy barely clears the rocky ground. Oh no, I can’t breathe! My chest hurts! Slow it down, walk a few steps.

I can do this! Picture yourself crossing the finish line. This is more like mental gymnastics!

Here I go, look at me run, watch out world! Six, seven, eight, nine.

Hang on, I think I might pass out. Better lie down for a minute. I need to get control; my chest is heaving and I’m gasping. My trembling legs carry me to a clump of grass, and I collapse.

Wait! What’s that sound? My eyes search the dark and land on a pack of wild dogs. Then I hear the cackle. Not dogs. Hyenas. Great.

“Hey, porcupine!” one of them calls, “who’s chasin’ ya?” As if that’s the funniest thing anyone ever said, the gang rolls on the dirt, howling in glee. Just ignore them.

My gut grabs my attention, it’s hungry again. Just a few more strides and I’ll make it to the watering hole. Here I go, shuffle those feet. Sand and pebbles fly as my haunches drag a path behind me. Annoying laughter follows me, but I focus on the distant sound of night birds and push myself to the water’s edge.

Made it!

After cooling down in the water and scavenging for morsels to fuel my return trip, I turn toward home and pick up my pace. Let’s be honest, I’m mostly walking with a few fast steps here and there. Finally, as the moon hits its zenith, I see my burrow and snuggle into its security and warmth.

The next night, I emerge long after the sun has set. My body aches and foreign muscles scream in protest. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. Porcupines were not made to run. Who do I think I am? Tonight, I’ll just walk fast. No pressure. Maybe find some snacks on the way. Come on, girl, you got this!

“Shimmy, shimmy, gettin’ skinny,” I chant until my pooch rumbles in hunger. I pause to scrounge a snack. As the juice of a fat grub dribbles over my chin, I hear another giggle. I swivel around to find a hyena spying on me from behind a tree. A snort of laughter escapes and he pulls back, as if I can’t see his spots behind the narrow branches.

“Get out of here!” I yell. “Scram!”

His ugly face pokes around the tree trunk and he grins, “I can’t help it,” he says around a throaty chortle, “I haven’t seen anything so funny in all my life!”

I turn on my flat feet and march onward. Next thing I know, the creature is jogging beside me, circling me in delight. “What are you doing, anyway?” he asks, eyes dancing in the moonlight.

“I’m training for the Sahara Skirmish, not that it’s any of your business,” I answer in a huff because I’m breathing heavily. But my anger is fueling me, pushing me faster.

“Porcupines can’t run,” he says, jogging backward in front of me.

“Watch me,” I say, tightening my muscles and pushing off to a sprint. More like a jog. Or maybe a trot.

The hyena rolls on the ground, dissolving in amusement as I set my sights on the watering hole and give it some gas.

This continues every night, again and again. As I climb from my hole, stretching and preparing to try again, there he is, lurking in the shadows.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Perfluffity,” I say between gasps.

He snorts with joy, “Perfluffity? Perfluffity?” Again, he falls to the earth, rolling as I continue putting one foot in front of the other. “I’m going to call you Fluff,” he says, as he rejoins me.

“Well, what’s your name?” I ask.

“Frank,” he says and that makes me laugh.

“If you’re so fast, how come you’re not running in the big race?” I say as I slow to an amble.

“Not my vibe,” he chuckles, matching my pace. “You know, if you try not to wiggle so much, you’d go faster,” he says, oscillating his body like a snake to emphasize his point. I straighten my spine and lift my tail. Moving my feet faster, I increase my speed. Dag nabbit, he’s right!

Night after night, I make the journey to the watering hole and back. I still need to rest in the grass and cool off in the water, but I think I’m getting faster. Frank hangs by my side, offering feedback: “Pick up your tail,” or “Are you running or having a seizure?” or “Get your jiggle on!”

*****

Finally, today’s the day. I rested during the night so I could stay awake. The race starts at sunrise. We all gather at the starting line. Ahead of me is a monkey with a baby on her back. Beside me are a couple hippos, scraping the dirt. I also see zebras wearing leg warmers, the antelope cheerleaders that started this craziness, and a lioness pacing.

“Remember,” Frank says beside me, “It’s a big loop. First, you’ll pass the watering hole, then you’ll circle the tall trees. Next is the big hill. It will take you to the sand pits. Weave through them and you’re home free – back at the starting point which is also the finish line!” He is trotting around me in nervous zigzags, alternating between shrieks of laughter and grunts of anxiety. “You see the lioness over there?” he whispers. “Her name is Queen. Stay out of her way. She’s trouble.”

My eyes follow the elegant creature as her silky legs ripple with muscles. At the sound of squawking, my attention is drawn to the front. Two giraffes stand on either side of the road, their long necks curved over it, creating an arched starting line. A vulture is swooping above them, waving his wings. “Ready,” the bird screeches, “Set,” he raises his wings then brings them down hard at his sides, “Go!”

The menagerie tramples forward, a rush of animal flesh like a tsunami. I shuffle to the side to avoid being bulldozed. Choking on dirt kicked into billowing clouds, I press forward. I hear shrieks of mirth behind me and quicken my pace. Frank jogs ahead then loops back. “Come on, big girl!” he howls, “pick up the pace! You’re coming in last!”

“The race just started,” I growl back, thinking he’s going to get a quill in the snout if he’s not careful. My bladder is screaming; I detour behind a bush. Must be nerves. Soon, I’m back on track but all the other animals have vanished. My chest is vibrating, and I’m having a hard time getting enough air. Why am I doing this? I think I might actually die. Porcupines can’t run, what was I thinking? My chin is quivering now and I’m gulping and coughing. But my feet keep moving, I won’t stop.

“You’re almost to the watering hole,” Frank gallops to my side, coming from who knows where. “You got this, Fluff!” He runs ahead, then sits on the side of the road, chuffing a soft, happy sound as I scramble closer. Then I see the sun reflecting off the murky water in the distance. Arriving, I slide into the tepid moisture and spread out in the cool mud. The hippos are splashing and snorting water and I wonder if they plan to continue.

Time to get back on the road. With one last sip, I spot a crocodile gliding my way and bolt out of the water. Using the momentum, I carry my heavy self on my four tiny feet until I feel a cramp in my side. I slow to a stroll then flop in a sliver of shade. Just need a minute. My body isn’t used to daylight hours and my eyelids droop with fatigue. Maybe a short nap will help? Closing my eyes, I feel the air shift above and open them to find the vulture circling overhead. Nope! Gotta go!

Trees! I see a cluster of tall trees, the halfway point. Joy motivates me to move and I’m around them in a flash. Is that a runner’s high? Or a second wind? Either way, I’m energized and making tracks. Good thing because the ground is going up: I’ve started the dreaded hill. Time for my mantras. “You’re crushing it!” I shout, “Just one more step!” The words spill out of me until I crest the hill and they become a whimper. Where’s Frank? I need a distraction.

Not far to the sand pits and then I’m home free. My tiny feet ache and I can feel blisters developing. I stop to lick my wounds and almost mark the trail when I hear a low growl behind me. Slowly, I turn my head. Queen is glaring, sharp teeth exposed with lips pulled back. Is she looking at me? I check over my shoulder, but no one is there.

“How dare you bring your filthy, rodent self to our race,” she hisses. “You don’t belong here,” the words rumble up from her core. With a slow step in my direction, head hanging, eyes locked on mine, she advances. My limbic brain takes over, freezing me to the spot. As if watching through stone, I observe her sweeping the sand with one foot, a low growl rising in intensity. My eyes won’t close, they are stuck in the open position. I prepare to die as I see her jaw open, teeth bared, ready to clamp over my head.

“Flex your quills!” I hear from my right side. “Flex your quills!” he screams again. Frank.

Something snaps inside my mind and, as the lioness lunges, my quills rise in stanchioned rows like soldiers on defense. The glue holding my eyes open releases and I squeeze them shut at the same time I hear a screech that would break glass. Cowering in a hunch, quills still quivering, I risk a peek and see Queen like a golden blur, fading into the distant horizon.

“You go, girl!” Frank is at my side, hooting and beaming. I chance a grin that explodes into a belly laugh. After the shaking stops and the hysteria settles, he says again, “I mean it. You go girl!” When I just stand there, he yells, “Go!”

Tucking my tail, and tightening my midsection, I plunge forward, feet scraping dirt, blisters forgotten.

Ahead, there’s a commotion. As I draw near, I see antlers and hooves flailing. The antelopes are stuck in the sand. They must have come in hot and lost their footing. Nimbly, I trot at a snail’s pace, in and around those deep pits. No sweat. Not much further now. Keep on pressing on, I tell myself.

The sun is in full bloom, burning the top of my head with its intense rays. Heat rises from the desert floor. Dust flies with each step I take. My mouth is so dry I’m crunching grit between my teeth. How delicious would a worm taste right now? Or a green leaf. Am I still moving? Or have I passed out with my underbelly exposed, a perfect afternoon delight for a vulture? In the distance I see a turquoise lake, twinkling and sparkling, beckoning me onward. Gotta make it to the water. I clutch the ground, pulling my round body as if swimming through quicksand. Why am I not getting any closer? With every step I take, the lake retreats further away.

I give up. Every fiber of my body is crying in pain. My four, skinny ankles can’t take another step.

“Perfluffity!” I hear. Leave me alone, let me sleep.

“Perfluffity!” I open my eyes. Giant hooves, two toes, grayish white. What the heck?

“Fluff!” Frank tries again, this time I see him hopping on his hind legs, jesting and yipping. Then, the face of a giraffe lowers and stares right into mine. He drops his head further until his chin is touching the dirt. “He wants you to get on!” Frank calls. Carefully, I climb onto the giraffe’s head and then slide down his neck until I’m cradled between his shoulder blades. The animal stands to his full height and I look down.

I made it. This is the finish line! Below me I see animals of every type, milling about, congratulating each other. There’s the monkey with her baby, eating bananas. And there are the zebras, grazing contentedly. I even see Queen, whimpering in pain as a lion carefully extracts quills from her cheeks. Frank is guffawing with his pals, chasing each other’s tails, and taunting the participants.

Giraffe is moving, and the vibration soothes me. I’ve never been so tired. His steps are slow and deliberate. My mind and body too weary to contemplate our path. All I can think is, “I did it.”

Jarred back to reality, I realize the giraffe is stopping and lowering his body to the ground. He places his chin in the dirt, and I realize it’s time to get off. Reluctantly I crawl down his neck and over his head. The motion carries me forward and I find myself sliding down the ramp into my burrow.

Home.