This is Pickles. Pickles is a sassy Aquarius, a two-time MLB all-star, and she’s working on herself.
This goofy ball of toothpicks was recently introduced to me by one of my friends, and the second we locked eyes, it was the Wild West. I think hedgehogs are adorable, but when I tried to give Pickles a hug, it was like getting very small but very real acupuncture.
You know when you walk into someone’s house and they introduce you to their dog and say “he doesn’t bite, he’s really well-behaved,” and meanwhile the dog is drooling and can barely keep that little snaggletooth in his mouth? Now imagine a tiny creature with beady eyes and snaggleteeth (snaggletooths?) all over its body, and you’ll imagine the bloodthirsty beast I’m dealing with. Every time I go into my friend’s room, I swear I feel a cold breeze, like a ghost is passing through me, and I hear a teeny, spiky voice telling me I’ll never amount to anything.
Now I think Pickles is following me around, but my friends keep saying things like
“Avery, there’s no hedgehog following you.”
“Avery, there’s no way a hedgehog could unlock its cage and break in to your room to watch you while you sleep.”
“Avery, it’s me, I’m not a hedgehog I just recently got a mullet and frosted tips.”
Blah blah blah. Pickles, if you’re reading this, I know you put that spike in my Peirce mac and cheese. Stop dodging my calls.
The Kenyon Thrill 