Up ahead in the woods, my Air Force survival students had treed a big one and were chanting, “Death to Spiny, death to Spiny!” as they pummeled it with rocks of all sizes.
It was forty feet up, perched on a branch, and probably thinking porcupine thoughts. Like, “Golly, damn, who painted the target on me?”
The rocks whistled upward through the branches in search of their target. Thump. Thump. Well-aimed throws were causing quills to fall like rain, the porcupine soon-to-be taking the appearance of a plump dog with mange. The porcupine looked down, scanning in a porcupine way, until its eyes found me off in the distance. Our eyes locked for a moment and I gave him the secret Instructor porcupine salute – basically a signal to run like hell. It didn’t work.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Knock off the horseshit!” I said it again, louder. The woods became eerily quiet. The faces of berserk, tired, and hungry Air Force pilots and crewmen turned toward me. Slowly, they began walking toward my position.
Prior to our rude arrival, the porcupine was sleeping in the tree, taking it easy from a long night of munching. I saw him as forty pounds of sleepy solitude covered with 30,000 quills. The students saw him as food. I asked them if they really needed to kill this creature of the trees. A vote was taken. All said, “Hell yes! Spiny dies!”
The porcupine, dazed and sore, viewed our huddle from above. Listening and eavesdropping for the students’ next play. Voices traveled upward. The porcupine heard what he didn’t want to hear.
Students were now ascending a rock outcropping near the tree. Each climber carried his rock-of-choice. One student, a former college football lineman, carried a rock the size of a small car. Two students remained at the base of the tree, armed with clubs.
The primary target would be the top of its skull. The unprotected belly would be the secondary target. The plan was simple: climb the rocks to a position above the porcupine and drop a bomb. Cause of death – giant rock to the head.
A bomb dropper was ready and in position, twenty feet above the target. It was the college football player. I silently prayed for the porcupine, the tree, and the two students remaining on the ground.
Still to this day, I’m unsure whether the porcupine died from fright, shards of broken branches, or a direct hit from the rock. I do know the students were happy they killed something. They were shouting and raising their arms in triumph as they approached the lifeless body. They even asked me to take a group photo of them with their kill.
With porcupine thoughts smashed, there were now plenty of human thoughts. Like, “Do we have to keep this thing?” “How much does this thing weigh?” “What’s the meat taste like?” “How long does it take to cook a porcupine?” “How do we clean this thing?” “Are the quills poisonous?”
This porcupine story makes me sad. So many northern Indian and Eskimo tribes cherish the porcupine. They give thanks for finding one, they give thanks for its decorative quills, and they give thanks for the meat it provides. They know how to cook it properly so the meat is rich and tasty. They know how to remove the quills and soften the tips so they may adorn clothing and baskets. Not one of my students said, “Thank You, Great Porcupine, for all that you’ve provided me.”
The porcupine taught me a valuable lesson that day. One I’ve adhered to and shared with students for over thirty years. Respect for all living things. There must be a justified reason to harm, maim, or kill a creature that poses no threat to you.
Now and then, when walking in the woods, I’ll look up into the tall trees and imagine the porcupine there. Giving me his secret porcupine Instructor salute – the signal to walk in the woods with respect and harmony.
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