In Memory of Sir Wilbur, Hedgehog Extraordinaire

So small, and yet the biggest heart and show stealer I ever did meet.

Wilbur was about one when I adopted him from a girl in Dallas who no longer wanted a hedgehog.   I'm not sure what his first year looked like, but in the five plus years we owned him, he accomplished a lot. 

He survived countless baths.  According to him, just barely.

He did some heavy reading...

humored entirely too much snuggling (if you didn't mind the prickles and didn't move too much!)...

and even had a brief foray into fussball. 

When he wasn't busy hiding...

...he was the sole star of this blog for months, helping us prepare for Josephine's arrival.

Wilbur compared to the avocado-sized baby

Wilbur inspecting the hedgehog onesie

Wilbur being outsized by a rutabaga baby 

He was simply the perfect addition to our little family,

and no matter how persnickety Sean was about him, even they had their own special bond.

When Josephine arrived, Wilbur excelled in his role of Fascinating Big Brother.

He sat for countless portraits...

So photogenic!

... while entertaining other less cooperative portrait-sitters at the same time.

My parents took good care of him while we were in New York; I missed him and was happy to have him home with us again when we got back to Austin.  

I noticed over the last week or so that Wilbur seemed increasingly frail; he wasn't as heavy or solid feeling in my hands.  I hadn't been hearing his wheel, and saw that his legs were developing a tendency to splay to the side.  His breathing was more labored when I "wrestled" with him, and even while he rested, so I wrestled less and let him rest more.  Most recently, I was just lifting him carefully to look him over, say sweet things to him, and make sure everything seemed okay.  (Now I wish I'd taken the time to just cuddle him).  His eyes looked drawn and tired-- I even mentioned that to Sean the other night.  But otherwise, he seemed healthy (his skin, quills, fur, feet, habits) so I just told myself he was getting old... "This is what an elderly hedgehog looks like-- this is how they act."  I didn't know the end was SO near.  I wasn't ready.  (It's hard to be ready for death).  It is so final, so sad. 

Last night when I found him, I'd gone upstairs to feed him; I was in the middle of chastising him for not eating all his food when I noticed he was lying under his wheel without any labored breathing at all.  I can't quite get over the fact that I never got to feed him.  I keep wanting to go upstairs and feed my hedgehog, but there isn't one there to feed.

I want to hear the wheel rattle, the scuffles of all his activity, his food dish bumping into the tank wall... but all is quiet.  At one point last night, a residual bubble surfaced from his water bottle, causing that metallic ball bearing click, and I started crying all over again.

I have a Wilbur-shaped hole in my heart that feels so empty.

It isn't hard to see why.

Sir Wilbur lived a good, comfortable, healthy, strong life for 6 plus years.  He was the source of a lot of laughter, curiosity, and [prickly] warm fuzzies.
He is missed and will continue to be.

Above all, I'm grateful for the time we shared.