“No, no, no,” Ali said to her daughter, and deposited the enormous box of sausages from the bulk store into her husband’s waiting arms. She tugged a box of ice cream sandwiches out of the hatchback’s stuffed trunk. “You get one. Only one.”
“Okay,” said Bethie eagerly, and reached up for the box. “Can I eat it on the way to the freezer?”
“Only if you tell me why you don’t tell someone when you’re going to end the siege when you show up.”
“Because they’ll just wait you out. It’s like you’re giving them hope.”
Bethie recited the words dutifully, but Ali wasn’t convinced.
“We’ll role play that one tonight,” she decided. “If there’s a situation where a six day siege would succeed, we’ll find it. We can start while we’re restocking the basement storage.” They’d also run through all the scenarios where it wouldn’t work. “Do you see Wulfy’s food?”
“Can I feed him?” Bethie’s brown eyes gleamed with excitement.
“No ice cream for the porcupine,” Ali reminded her.
“I know, Mom. Seeds, lettuce, an’, um, berries.”
Ali high-fived her daughter. “How about you wait on your treat? I’ll carry the lettuce for you and Dad can get the rest while we make sure Wulfy’s not hungry.”
“I don’t want him to get hangry,” Bethie said with great solemnity, and tugged at a carton of blackberries bigger than her head.
“Good.” As they walked down a tunnel of Osage orange trees with arms full of porcupine snacks, Ali eyed the yard’s living defenses. Berms of packed earth were hidden by hedgerows, while thorny rosebushes boosted the defenses at the edges of the yard.
Tubs of blooming belladonna interspersed the yard with purple bursts of flowers spilling their bells over wood and grass alike. She gave a quick smile to note the honeybee buzzing along. It was worth the loss of useable honey on this acreage to obtain an innocuous poison.
The moat was the real defense, but the driveway partially negated it, despite the gate and bridge. Plus, the edges were prone to crumbling without constant restoration. Hence their overlarge hedgehog.
“You think Wulfy will be in his usual corner?”
“Yes,” said Bethie, with the confidence of a seven-year-old with a pet porcupine. “His den is awesome. I decorated it last week —”
“Not glitter!” burst Ali. She nearly dropped the birdseed.
“Nooooo.” A giggle emerged from behind the blackberries. “I made him a a blanket.”
“Bethie, honey…” She took a good look at the den. “It’s a lovely blanket, but I think it might be stuck on Wulfy’s quills.”
***
