Porcupine brings out the paparazzi

I walked around the side of my house in the early evening, still an hour or two before dark, watering plants as I went from the back yard to the front. As is usually the case, my mind was a million miles away from where I stopped in front of my house to take care of the thirsty (neglected is probably a better word) geraniums in the window boxes. From the corner of my eye I saw movement and turned around to see a large porcupine lumbering down the sidewalk. Just as he reached my house he crossed the street and climbed into the rock garden in front of a house a few doors down. This is not an every day thing. I dropped the watering can and ran into the house to grab my camera. Walking over to where the porcupine was busy nibbling on the roses and other flowers in my neighbor’s garden, I moved slowly, cautiously. The animal paid no attention to me. In fact, he seemed to pose, framed between the arbor and a rosebush before ambling up to the front porch. I stepped a little closer and for more than an hour I stood there taking photographs, watching him pick and choose which potted plants to eat before he decided enough was enough and shuffled on down the street. Like some kind of urban wildlife paparazzi, I followed and watched as he strolled into a backyard and climbed the wood fence at the edge of the lot. At the top of the fence he turned and gave me a long look. I leaned toward him, still pressing the shutter, and he just watched. Finally, bored with our game, he began to climb down the other side of the fence. Just before he dropped out of sight he stopped again, studied me, and then he was gone. I half expected him to wave. As I stepped back into my house I thought about how unexpected the porcupine’s visit had been even though the fact of the matter is he’s probably somewhere in the neighborhood any given day, along with the flock of wild turkeys that occasionally stroll across the park nearby or the moose that likes to visit. Even young tom mountain lions or black bear cubs have appeared. Putting away my camera, I felt a rush of gratitude for the moment. Grateful that I’d been the one to have the porcupine encounter and not one of my dogs, of course, but grateful, too, for the reminder that even though I live in a densely populated neighborhood, with busy streets, enclosed backyards and a constant flow of human movement and traffic, this is still the Northwest. There is a wildness here that won’t give up; that reminds us from time to time that, truth be told, we will always be the interlopers on this beautiful land.