Hemi was born to inspire.

Hemi was born on February 23, 2005 and was the creature responsible for my addiction to quills. She came from a pet store in Edmonton and weighed in at about 90 grams at approximately two months old. She was so very tiny, and a complete ball of nerves.

Miss Hemi (as she became fondly known) began as a bribe from my parents. If I removed myself from an abusive situation, she could stay. My parents knew me well and it was a deal I couldn't refuse. However, they didn't know just how Hemi would turn each of our lives upside down. For an animal so small, she made a huge impact on everyone she met.

Throughout her life, Hemi was never extremely healthy. Her history is unknown, but I have this theory that she was inbred and perhaps slightly under-developed. When she first came home, she was treated for a minor quill bed infection that caused the roots of her quills to turn soft and a patch of her skin to turn scaly and itchy. Her vet placed her on antibiotics for two weeks, which cleared the infection up with no problems.

Treating her for this illness was a turning point for Hemi, so to speak. Prior to her infection, she had been exceptionally nervous around humans, constantly hissing and raising her quills. During her treatment, she learned that I wouldn't hurt her and actually began calming down considerably when I was near. I discovered she enjoyed being sung to, so I'd sing a myriad of country songs to her as I held her. Eventually, her skittishness faded and she became extremely trusting of me. I could do anything to her, and she would lay back and soak in the attention. She adjusted to my routine and many times, I'd find her waiting by her cage door when I got home from work or school. She would squeak quietly until I picked her up and kissed her nose, to which she responded with a kiss of her own - a quick passing of her tiny tongue over my cheek.

Hemi came everywhere with me, and was a constant fixture in my life; no matter what, there was a good chance she was tucked away in my hoodie or snuggled against my chest. I took her on outings with me, and she became a popular guest at nursing homes, hospitals and schools. I could set her on the floor and set would follow me wherever I went, scurrying as fast as her little legs would carry her. She brought great joy to elderly folks at the nursing home, with her shiny black eyes and twitching nose. As long as I was near, she never hissed or raised a quill to a patient. She would sit quietly on their laps while they stroked her quills or kissed her nose. Click here to read the short article about one of Hemi's visits.

Just after her first birthday, Hemi was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer called osteosarcoma, which is bone cancer. The vet wasn't very optimistic about her chances and game two options - her leg could be amputated to prevent the cancer from spreading, or I could let her be and help her cross the Rainbow Bridge when the time came. I opted to keep her comfortable for the remainder of her life, and hope for some sort of a miracle.

Luckily, I got my miracle. Just four months after her diagnosis, the black spot on the bone in her leg disappeared. There was no sign of cancer, and her vet was completely stunned. Hemi had a clean bill of health and a new lease on life. She spent her summer playing in the grass, soaking up the sun and being spoiled more than usual.

Unfortunately, it would be her last summer with us. In January 2007, Hemi began bleeding when she urinated. Various tests were conducted, and all proved inconclusive. Urine tests showed that the blood was coming from her bladder, but no sign of infection was found. Due to Hemi's age and the uncertainty of the tests, the vet was hesitant to spay her. To help her cope, she was placed on a powerful drug called Chlorophenicol, which is used to treat many nasty ailments in animals. It is dangerous for humans to handle or consume this antibiotic, so I had to be very careful when giving it to her.

For a few months, the drug appeared to be working and the blood in her urine disappeared. She looked completely healthy. Early in the morning on April 3, 2007 (3am or so), I was horrified to find that she was passing pure blood. She lost mobility of her legs and lay on her side, looking completely defeated. I spent the rest of the night with her, telling her it was okay to go while I force-fed whatever food and liquid she would take. She curled up against my chest and placed her head on my arm, just staring at me. She wanted to be near me, and inched closer and closer the entire night. I took her to the vet at 7am that same day and came home without her. She had died at 9:14 that morning after complications. I was absolutely devastated.

I had her cremated and her ashes now sit on my desk, in a tiny blue urn with her name on it. For the first month after her death, her cage sat empty but her wheel would spin every night. I like to think it was her way of telling me, "I'm okay, mom." When a new hedgehog moved into her cage (Kismet), the wheel would still spin, but for a shorter duration. The visits seemed to stop about six months after her death, although sometimes, I still find a light brown banded quill in the cage.

Hemi was featured in the February/March 2008 issue of CreaturesAll magazine! Read her story by clicking here.