April, 1921. 



The Canadian Field-Naturalist. 



71 



out of breath, he said: "I shouted for 

 you but couldn't make you hear. I saw a 

 fine big porcupine back there, and it climb- 

 ed only about four feet up a tree. You 

 can easily get a great photograph of it.'" 

 "Back there" proved to be a low rocky 

 ridge thickly grown with cedars and bal- 

 sams. It was only about three minutes 

 quick walk from the pine stump, but when 

 we arrived with t^ie camera ready set, the 

 big porcupine had utterly vanished, and 

 careful searching of the surroundings yield- 

 ed no result at least in hig porcupines. 

 For just as we were giving up the quest, 

 the Ornithologist caught sight of a small 

 jet-black creature trying to hide under a 

 cedar root. It was a baby porcupine about 

 the size of a half grown cat. No doubt the 

 large porcupine was his mother, but ma- 

 ternal instinct had failed in t^is case and 

 she had deserted ;ier offspring. The long 

 grey-tipped hair of the adult had not grown 

 on him yet, and he looked very black in his 

 short under-coat. Porcupines are remark- 

 ably large when they come into the world, 

 and although this one seemed well started 

 ill life, l\e. was probably very young. Nev- 

 ertheless he bristled his spines and slapped 

 at us with his tail like the oldest and 

 surliest of his race. 



As a rule I am opposed to keeping Avild 

 animals in captivity, but I thought if I 

 could feed this little fellow at home for a 

 sliort time, I might learn something inter- 

 esting about porcupine ways, and later I 

 could set him free again. So while the 

 Ornitholc^ist jiiurriedly emptied our prec- 

 ious lunch out of the rucksack, I tried to 

 Idop my handkerchief around the porcu- 

 pine so as to work him out from beneath 

 the root, for I knew what would happen 

 to me if I touched him with bare hands. 

 But it could not be managed that way ; 

 t^iere was nothing for it but bare hands 

 after all, and they looked like well furnish- 

 ed pincushions by the time he was hustled 

 into the bag. His spines were only about 

 one qiuirter the length of those of the full 

 grown animal, but they were twice as 

 sharp. I pulled them out, one by one, 

 with my teeth, and eac;i of them left a 

 drop of blood after it. Then I picked up 

 my liandkerchief and wiped my fevered 

 * hrow. and it good stout spine stuck firmly 



in the end of my nose. I began to under- 

 stand how the story started that porcu- 

 pines can shoot their quills at an enemy. 

 Except for an occasional puppy-like 

 whine, he lay quiet in the bag all the way 

 home. T/iere I fitted up a roomy box 

 for him with a bed of fresh cedar branches, 

 and a partition behind which, if he wished, 

 he could retire from the garish day. And 

 I furnished a provision of lettuce leaves, 

 pieces of apple and a saucer of milk. But 

 it was plain next morning that ,he had 

 eaten nothing. Tlien when cabbage leaves 

 and succulent willow and poplar twigs 

 failed to attract him, I concluded that he 

 was too young to take solid nourishment, 

 and I tried to draw his attention to the 

 immense advantages of milk as a food. 

 But all my friendly advances were sullenly 

 rejected. He put down his head and 

 bristled his back, and looked at me with a 

 (lull l)ut rancorous ej^e. 



^bout all you can do to tame a porcu- 

 pine is to speak kindly to him. You can- 

 not try to win ;iis confidence by scratching 

 his head or stroking him soothingly down 

 the back. Evidently firmer measures than 

 well-meaning words were needed here. 

 From former experience I knew that even 

 large porcupines can be handled safely, 

 if unsympathetically, with a pair of heavy 

 leather mitts; and it was with this equip- 

 ment tjiat I made the little fellow immerse 

 Jiis nose in the milk, hoping that he would 

 begin to lap it ; but he wouldn 't. Then 

 I dipped my fingers in the milk and rub- 

 bed them over his lips. He registered his 

 objection to this treatment by a squeal, 

 but he made no attempt to bite. Porcu- 

 pines never do bite in anger; their quills 

 are their sole defence. Next I tried to 

 feed jhim from a bottle, but neither the 

 mouthpiece improvised from the rubber 

 bulb of a pen-filler, nor what the drug 

 clerk assured me was the best make of 

 anti-colic feeder for human infants, met 

 with his approval, and he whined and 

 kicked and left dozens of quills stuck in 

 my mitts. He had gone on a determined 

 hunger-strike, and all my efforts ended in 

 getting no more than a teaspoonful of milk 

 down his throat, and t^tiat only with much 

 trouble and disturbance. However, Ihis 

 fasting seemed to have done him no harm, 



