It all began with a dying duck. A mallard, to be precise, that the children had discovered in their mother’s hedge. It had clearly been hurt, and they were very upset about it all, especially Childe One, who has a soft spot for all animals, down to and including insects. This happened on a Sunday, and as their mom was going to be away all week, it was up to me to don the shining armour and rescue the poor critter first thing after school Monday. Shining armour – or rather a big blanket and the cat’s travel cage – stowed in the car we set off, and found the sad-looking thing hiding not a metre away from where the kids had found it in the first place.

It was almost too easy to grab the mallard, its one leg and one wing hanging at odd angles from its body. I realised with a sinking heart that we were going to have to deal with a death in the family, but off we went to an animal sanctuary, where the bird was duly handed over to the volunteers amid furrowed brows and shaken heads. To distract the kids I asked if there other animals in residence, and was told that there were, in fact, four hedgehog babies that the kids were welcome to have a look at if they cared to. You can see where this is going, right?

Three weeks later I’m back at the sanctuary. The news of the duck’s demise has been drowned out by tidings of joy (suitably, as we’re entering the month of December soon): one of the hedgehogs is to be given a new lease of life chez nous. I install a special hedgehog house in the kitchen, and bar the entrance with a couple of planks. The transition is easy, as the prickly little thing is hidden in a bunched-up ball of straw, so I simply lift the whole thing from the cat cage onto the floor and put the house on top.

And there it stays. Not a sound, not a movement for the first couple of hours. Misty the cat comes and inspects the house – essentially a man-made cave, complete with tunnel entrance, and nothing. I wait up until midnight, and nothing. The second evening is different. Spike (as it has been named) emerges, and explores its new environment, stopping along the way to nibble at the pellets I’ve placed around the room. In spite of my presence Spike is totally unfazed, even hiding behind my seated frame – a hedgehog can famously never be buggered at all, after all. That’s only as long as I remain still, however. If I move the spiky one growls at me and rolls into a ball in time-honoured fashion.

We keep Spike in the kitchen for a couple of days, and apart from becoming less and less careful about where to go potty, our less-than-sonic friend seems to settle in well. But of course it was never the idea that we would keep it as a pet, so one day I again lift the entire house and its contents unto the terrace. I figure it will be warmer there, and so hopefully a nice place for Spikey to spend the winter.

Alas, only a few days later when I carefully sneak a glance inside, my fears are confirmed. Spike is gone. Famously prickly(!) about where they hibernate, hedgehogs will not easily accept homes that are thrust upon them – and in fairness, a home that occasionally levitates would not feel safe to most of us. There is still hope, however. The garden does have a shed in the furthest corner, which could easily accommodate a hedgehog underneath it, and since the garden is surrounded by fences and hedges, the risks are limited, as long as it doesn’t venture onto the road.

And so there is little to do but hope for the best. A hedgehog’s greatest enemy is the car, against which it has no defence – indeed, the hedgehog has become endangered in many areas precisely because it’s meandering nocturnal searches for food leaves it particularly vulnerable to traffic. Many people have never seen a hedgehog in any other state than flattened, sad to say. But we have fond memories of Spike, at least, and imagine that one day it might reappear. Until this week, when I’m lunching on the terrace for the first time. Suddenly there’s a stirring in amongst the tulips and aquilegias, and I grind my teeth, thinking that our kitchen compost has attracted rats, in spite of us using a bokashi. But my fears prove groundless, because there, not a metre away from where I last saw it, is Spike, or if not Spike, then at least a very healthy-looking hedgehog, rooting about and occasionally peeping out to check on me.

It’s about twice the size Spike was when we released it, so clearly adult, and doesn’t seem to mind my intrusion, particularly not as I present it with a bowl of lovely mealworms. If it is Spike, it must have hibernated nearby, at least. The kids are super excited, and me, too. I’ve always wanted a garden that is wildlife friendly, and this is certainly an example of success in that regard. Who knows, we might even have a whole new set of hedgehog babies before long…

If you want to adopt a hedgehog there are plenty of sanctuaries out there that will happily provide you with one, as long as you have a suitable habitat for them – that means a fairly large garden, preferably quite overgrown and protected, and with no dogs. If at all possible, there should be no way for the animals to reach roads, but that’s almost impossible to ensure. Do get in touch with your local sanctuary. We used Birdsbay, and they are typical in that they rely on volunteers to care for rescued animals.