Deep in the Great Forest, past the Clear Blue Lake, and nestled between two of the Singing Mountains is a place called Mosswood. It’s a quiet little place of tall beech and maple trees, the Babbling Brook that runs through, and warm meadows that like to take naps in the afternoon sun. And if you happened to pass through and take a wander by the Babbling Brook, you just might spot a squirrel dipping his toes in the water beside a very happy little hedgehog.
Chapter 9: A Day with Pudge
The Nut Shop is a cozy space in the hollow base of one of the old oak trees in the Clearing. Inside Mother and Father Squirrel keep the shelves stocked with roasted chestnuts, candied walnuts, jars of hazelnut butter, and a delightful variety of brittles. Above is the Treehouse, where the Squirrels live with their twins, Freddy and Freida. The squirrel pups adore their high up home with its dozens of windows that are perfect hatches from which to scamper to nearly any part of Mosswood without touching the ground.
Freddy, in particular, lived to race through the canopy. He would spring from branch to branch, sailing through the air and skittering across bark in a blur of brown and gray. The only creatures faster than him in the Wood were the birds. He thought this unfair, though, as they had the advantage of flying.
It was rare for Freddy to not be in motion, so the fine summer morning when Mama Hedgehog stopped by the Nut Shop, the only reason Freddy was holding somewhat still was because Mother Squirrel was making maple pecans. As Father and Freida were out for the day, Freddy had appointed himself Nut Shop Taste Tester and was perched on a stool, sneaking nibbles when Mother’s back was turned.
“Good morning!” called Mama Hedgehog as she stepped inside and held the door.
Her youngest, Pudge, toddled in after her.
Technically his name was Percival T. Hedgehog, but from the day he was born, everyone called him Pudge. With his dimpled round cheeks, snub little nose, and roly-poly belly, it was really quite impossible not to. Pudge didn’t seem to mind, though. He was an easygoing hedgehoglet and floated along in life as if on a slow, invisible stream of contentment. If food was involved, berries especially, he was downright blissful.
“Good morning!” greeted Mother Squirrel to her guests.
“Any chance you have some walnut clusters?” asked Mama Hedgehog, “I woke up this morning with quite a hankering.”
“Certainly!” replied Mother Squirrel, “Just a moment, please.”
She set her pecans to cool, and as she fetched the walnuts, the two grown creatures began chatting.
Freddy, meanwhile, was squirming, tail flicking and paw tapping. He had important things to do. First he planned to race up to the Chipmunk Orchard as soon as he was done eating—er, taste testing–to see if the triplets had their slide out. Then he was going to see what the otter pups were up to. Freddy hoped to challenge Zippikins Otter to a branches vs. brook race.
The young squirrel was just hatching a plan to sneak a pawful of pecans and scoot when he overheard Mama Hedgehog say she had a problem. She’d been hoping to go look for wild orchids, but was concerned because finding them could take all day and it would be too long a trek for Pudge. Unfortunately, Papa Hedgehog had already left earlier with Millie, their oldest, to gather bluebells, so Mama Hedgehog was in a bit of a pickle. Freddy shrugged.
Not my problem, he thought and started nipping pecans, stuffing one in his mouth.
“I have an idea,” said Mother Squirrel, “Why don’t you leave Pudge here? I can mind the shop while Freddy and Pudge play.”
Freddy spun around.
“Wha-ft?” he mumbled.
“Wonderful!” said Mama Hedgehog, and before Freddy could swallow and protest, she had told Pudge to have a good time and stepped out the door.
“Mom!” exclaimed Freddy, gulping down the last bit of sticky maple, but Mother Squirrel held up a paw.
“You and Pudge go outside and explore the Wood,” she said firmly, “Come back for lunch in a few hours, and then Pudge can stay with me till dinnertime.”
Freddy recognized her it’s-no-use-arguing-so-deal-with-it voice.
“Harumpfff!” he grunted as loudly as he dared.
Mother Squirrel turned back to her cooking without another word.
No fair, Freddy stewed.
So much for sliding or racing. Pudge was too little to be good for either of those things.
Or much of anything, Freddy frowned, sizing up the plump hoglet.
Pudge looked over at him and smiled.
“Come on, Pudge,” muttered Freddy, tromping to the Nut Shop door and holding it open, “Let’s go do…something.”
Pudge gave a genial murmur and trundled out into the sunshine.
Freddy followed grumbling, his tail snapping angrily behind him.
Mother Squirrel owed him big for this. When he got home he was going to demand a mountain of acorn brittle.
“Blib-blub,” babbled Pudge cheerfully.
Make that two mountains.
So the pair wandered into the Wood, Pudge waddling and Freddy stomping. Freddy was fuming so deeply he didn’t notice the little hedgehog was the one leading the way. That is until Pudge stopped.
“Oiy!” chittered Freddy, toppling over the hoglet.
Pudge had plopped himself on the soft grass and didn’t seem to mind the squirrel somersaulting over his head.
Freddy struggled upright, grumbling, and brushed off his fur. Beside him, Pudge was staring happily at a clump of wood phlox. Freddy grunted, but glanced at the bright leaves dotted with the last of spring’s purple flowers.
“Great,” he huffed and looked longingly up at the trees.
“Spee-ider,” said Pudge sweetly.
The little hedgehog pointed a chubby paw towards the plants.
Freddy’s eyebrows furrowed. Sure enough, a tiny white spider with slender green legs had spun a delicate web between the hanging leaves. Freddy leaned in for a better view. Several glistening dew drops hung to a few strands. They sparkled in the morning light filtering down through the canopy.
Freddy usually ran far too fast to notice things like spiderwebs–well, except when he ran through them by accident. Yicky stuff to get out of one’s fur.
But here in the stillness, it was actually…kind of…pretty.
For a moment, squirrel and hoglet sat side by side, gazing together.
It wasn’t long, though, before Freddy’s thoughts came nipping back at his heels.
What are the otters doing? he wondered, and he then caught a glimpse of a giant maple beyond them.
Oooooooo! Bet I could make it from the top to that sapling in one leap!
And on his mind skittered till he felt Pudge stir next him.
The hoglet gave a little wave to both spider and web before trundling off into the forest. Freddy sighed and plodded after him. Perhaps the squirrel was a tad curious as to where Pudge was going, but mostly still busy concentrating on how annoyed he was to be Pudge-sitting.
“Bet Zippikins isn’t wandering around slower than a slug,” he muttered.
After a while, Pudge paused at the bank of the Babbling Brook. It was a quiet corner where the water slowed to bend round a small knoll, forming a shallow area under the shade of a cluster of chestnut trees. Pudge surveyed the smooth pebbles at the water's edge and plopped himself on a large, dry stone.
“Blub, blub,” he murmured, dipping his paws in the gentle flow of the current.
Blub, blub, Freddy mouthed to himself and waggled his head.
However, watching the water glide over the hoglet’s toes, the squirrel realized his own paws were warm from walking. Now, normally hot paws would be no excuse for stopping, but the hedgehog didn’t look to be going anywhere soon and the water looked rather inviting.
With a sigh, Freddy plunked down and sank his paws into the stream.
“Oh!” he said out loud.
The water tickled and soothed at the same time.
“Blub, blub,” smiled Pudge.
Freddy shook his head and looked around. The water rippled and swirled past them. Soft sunbeams filtered through the trees and danced on its surface. Listening in the stillness, Freddy noticed for the first time the quiet gurgles and murmurs of the current.
Guess that’s why they call it the Babbling Brook, he thought, Wonder what it’s saying?
Then he chuckled out loud.
Ah, of course, he laughed inside, it’s saying squirrels are the best!
Freddy turned to tell this to Pudge, but saw the little hedgehog’s eyes were closed in a peaceful smile.
Maybe the Brook is saying something else to him, thought Freddy and turned his gaze back to the current.
He listened there for several minutes before musings about lunch overtook his attention.
Freddy was just debating whether he was in the mood for five sandwiches or six when once again Pudge picked himself up and toddled away.
“Where to now, Pudgers?” said Freddy.
“Blib-blub,” smiled Pudge.
Freddy shook his head, but scuffled up. The breeze ruffled the fur in his tail as it swung behind him until it remembered the tree vs. brook contest and returned to flicking in anticipation.
But then their wander took them by the funny-looking rock, the birch tree with four trunks, and the giant mushroom growing in yellow and orange ripples in the side of an oak. Pudge gazed and burbled at each, and Freddy even held the hoglet on his shoulders to get a better view.
Eventually, Pudge stopped in a small, shady clearing. A few beams of late morning sun dappled the forest floor. Pudge toddled to a spot where the moss was soft and dry, plopped down, and rolled over on his back. Then he let out a long, contented sigh.
“Nap-nap,” he said, closing his eyes.
Nap? thought Freddy.
While he seemed to have misplaced his grumpiness somewhere between there and the brook, now he thudded to the ground next to Pudge and crossed his paws over his chest.
“Naps are for babies,” he muttered.
The little hedgehog, however, was already snoring.
Freddy sighed and leaned back. Beneath him the moss was light and velvety, and a soft wind rustled through the leaves above. As the young squirrel stared into the canopy, patches of sunlight filtered down and warmed the fur on his belly.
Perhaps a tiny rest wouldn’t be so terrible, he thought.
Beside him, Pudge’s snores were slow and steady. Freddy’s eyes grew heavy.
“Munch!” was the next thing the young squirrel heard.
Freddy scrambled upright. The sun was overhead, and Pudge was looking at him amiably.
“Just resting my eyes,” mumbled Freddy, standing up.
“Munch, munch,” burbled Pudge.
Freddy turned in the direction of home, but then paused.
“Hey, Pudge,” he said, “Wanna check out that hollow log first?”
“Blib, lob,” cooed Pudge.
Freddy chuckled and helped the hoglet into the log’s mossy opening.
Eventually the pair found their way back to the Treehouse where Mother Squirrel served them summer nut salad, oat rolls, and berry cobbler. Freddy’s stomach met them all eagerly, but he slowed down his bites of cobbler to match Pudge’s slow pace, much to the hoglet’s delight.
“Munch,” giggled Pudge, putting a spoonful to his lips.
Freddy followed suit and they both rolled the sweet blackberries and crumble round their mouths.
“Not inhaling your food today, Freddy?” Mother Squirrel commented.
Freddy rolled his eyes and gave a short “pshhh” in return. Then he joined Pudge in smacking his lips and saying “num, num, num.”
Pudge trilled merrily in return.
“Well, thanks for your help this morning,” Mother Squirrel continued, “I can watch Pudge now.”
“That’s ok,” answered Freddy, matching another of the hoglet’s spoonfuls, “We’re going back out in a bit.”
Mother Squirrel raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Boo-bewwies,” cooed Pudge.
“That’s right,” said Freddy, wiping Pudge’s face with a napkin and catching the hoglet as he slid from his perch, “We’re gonna wander down to the Orchard and see what we find along the way. Don’t worry. I’ll get Pudge home for supper.”
“Oh,” said Mother Squirrel.
“See ya later!” said Freddy before she could add another word.
“Bye-bye,” waved Pudge.
“Blib-blub?” asked Freddy as he followed the hoglet out the door.
“Fweddy-weeee!” cooed Pudge.
And the pair headed into the sunshine together.
Epilogue Thoughts: On Slowing Down
I have been at the task of slowing down my entire adult life. Hence I love Freddy Squirrel because, like him, fast and furious is my default mode. The arrival of my firstborn brought me skidding to a halt.
My son was my Pudge–my sweet, starry-eyed, and would-not-be-rushed-for-anything baby. Some moments felt excruciatingly long–whether trying to get him back to sleep for the tenth time at 4 am or staring at the clock in the middle of the afternoon wondering how we’d make it till dinner. Still, in the slow moments with him, I found something I’d lost.
Growing up in the Sahel region of West Africa, the site of an abandoned village lay not far from my home. An unassuming cluster of trees strewn with rocks, if you got close enough the rocks turned into a million shards of pottery and other tiny treasures. Nine-year-old me spent hours tromping around it, eyes peeled for bits of clay pipe, ancient trading beads, and smooth cowrie shells. It was glorious. And there was a peace in that place that I lost once I moved on to boarding school and the rush of adolescence. It was more than feeling calm. It was a magical mix of just being, joy in discovering, and feeling at home in the world.
When I became a mom, that sense of wonder and peace returned when I took my toddling son to explore our nearby nature preserve. Walnut shells, pebbles, anything and everything that would make a splash in the brook–these were our shared treasures. For the first time in decades, I stepped off the hamster wheel and was able to breathe.
So A Day with Pudge is mostly a story for me (and other grown ups) who have been in the pressure cooker so long we’ve lost our peace. Not all kids get the chance to have it, which is something I grieve and hope we as a society can do better for them. But in all the ways I am able (which is a lesson on repeat for me), I am trying to slow down, trying to be with, and trying to protect the spaces where we can connect to each other and the earth beneath us. May you be able to share a moment of deep peace with someone you love soon.
*Thanks to Meg Oolders for the lovely silhouette banner at the beginning of this chapter.*