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    Ereth's Birthday
    Ereth's Birthday
    Ereth's Birthday
    Ebook201 pages2 hours

    Ereth's Birthday

    By Avi and Brian Floca

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    • Friendship

    • Survival

    • Nature

    • Family

    • Adventure

    • Animal Protagonists

    • Coming of Age

    • Talking Animals

    • Unlikely Friendships

    • Animal Protagonist

    • Found Family

    • Mentor Figure

    • Grumpy Old Man

    • Unlikely Heroes

    • Mentor

    • Responsibility

    • Birthday

    • Conflict

    • Animals

    • Animal Behavior

    About this ebook

    The fourth book in the beloved Poppy series by Newbery Medal–winning author Avi, with illustrations from Caldecott Medal–winning artist Brian Floca, is available as an ebook for the first time!

    Erethizon Dorsatum—better known as Ereth, the self-centered, foul-tempered old porcupine—is having a birthday. And he fully expects his best friend Poppy, a deer mouse, to help him celebrate in a grand manner.

    But Poppy has gone off somewhere with her husband, Rye, and it appears she has forgotten all about it. "Belching Beavers," says Ereth, "I am not angry!" (Though, perhaps he is—and more than just a little.)

    Ereth knows his special occasion deserves a special treat—even if he has to get it for himself. And what treat could be more special than tasty salt? But the nearest salt is located deep in the forest, in a cabin occupied by fur hunters, who have set out traps to capture the Dimwood Forest animals. In one of the traps, Ereth finds Leaper the Fox—who, with her dying breath, begs the prickly porcupine to take care of her three boisterous young kits, Tumble, Nimble, and Flip. "Jellied walrus warts!" Ereth exclaims, but reluctantly agrees.

    Certainly this day is not going as he planned—and it's only just the beginning! Not only does Ereth suddenly have a rambunctious new family to take care of, but he's being stalked by Marty the Fisher, the one creature in Dimwood Forest who can do him harm. And Bounder, the father of the three little foxes, remembers all too well the nose full of quills he got a while back from the grumpy old animal who now fancies himself the leader of the den. He too sets out to show Ereth who's boss.

    Throw in an unexpected snowstorm, and all in all, it adds up to one birthday Ereth the porcupine is never going to forget, not even if he lives to be a hundred and twenty-two!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMar 27, 2018
    ISBN9780062453938
    Author

    Avi

    Avi is the author of more than seventy books for children and young adults, including the 2003 Newbery medal winner Crispin: The Cross of Lead. He has won two Newbery Honors and many other awards for his fiction. He lives with his family in Denver, Colorado. Visit him at Avi-Writer.com.

    Read more from Avi

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      Book preview

      Ereth's Birthday - Avi

      CHAPTER 1

      A Special Day

      IN DIMWOOD FOREST, in the dark, smelly log where the old porcupine Erethizon Dorsatum lived, Ereth—as he preferred to call himself—woke slowly.

      Not the sweetest smelling of creatures, Ereth had a flat face with a blunt, black nose and fierce, grizzled whiskers. As he stirred, he rattled his sharp if untidy quills, flexed his claws, yawned, frowned, and grumbled, Musty moose marmalade, only to suddenly remember what day it was and smile. Today was his birthday.

      Ereth had given very little thought to what he would do about the day. As far as he was concerned, his birthday meant others would be doing something for him. And the one he was quite certain would be doing all the providing was his best friend, Poppy.

      Poppy, a deer mouse, lived barely an acorn toss from Ereth’s log in a gray, lifeless tree—a snag with a hole on one side. She resided there with her husband, Rye, and their eleven children.

      Ereth, in a very private sort of way, loved Poppy. He had never told anyone about this love, not even her. Enough for him to live near her. But since the porcupine was certain that Poppy thought of him as her best friend, he assumed she would be making a great fuss over his birthday. A party, certainly. Lavish gifts, of course. Best of all, he would be the center of attention.

      So it was that when Ereth waddled out of his log that morning he was surprised not to find Poppy waiting for him. All he saw were her eleven children playing about the base of the snag, squeaking and squealing uproariously.

      Why can’t young folks ever be still? A deeply disappointed Ereth complained to himself. Potted pockets of grizzly grunions, it would save so much trouble if children were born . . . old.

      Agitated, he approached the young mice. Where’s your mother? he barked. Where’s your wilted wet flower of a father?

      They . . . went . . . looking for . . . something, one of them said.

      Though Ereth’s heart sank, he made a show of indifference by lifting his nose scornfully and moving away from the young mice.

      Snowberry, one of the youngsters, glanced anxiously around at the others, then cried out, Good morning, Uncle Ereth!

      This greeting was followed by the ten other young mice singing out in a ragged, squeaky chorus, Good morning, Uncle Ereth!

      Ereth turned and glowered at the youngsters. What the tiddlywink toes do you want? he snapped.

      Aren’t you going to stay and play with us, Uncle Ereth? Snowberry called.

      No!

      Why?

      I’m . . . busy.

      You don’t look busy.

      I’m trying to find some peace and quiet, Ereth snapped. With all the noise you make, buzzard breath, what else do you think I’d be doing?

      One of the mice—her name was Columbine—slapped a paw over her mouth in order to keep from laughing out loud.

      Ereth glared at her. What are you laughing at?

      You, Columbine sputtered. You always say such funny things!

      Listen here, you smidgen of slipper slobber, Ereth fumed. "Don’t tell me I talk funny. Why don’t you stuff your tiny tail into your puny gullet and gag yourself before I flip you into some skunk-cabbage sauce and turn you into a pother of butterfly plunk?"

      Instead of frightening the young mice, Ereth’s outburst caused them to howl with glee. Sassafras laughed so hard he fell down and had to hold his stomach. Uncle Ereth, he cried, you are so hilarious! Please say something else!

      Belching beavers! Ereth screamed. I am not hilarious! You’re just a snarl of runty seed suckers with no respect for anyone older than you. How about a little consideration? As far as I’m concerned you mice have as much smarts as you could find in a baby bee’s belly button.

      "But you are funny, Uncle Ereth, cried another of the young mice, whose name was Walnut. Nobody else talks like you do. We love it when you swear and get angry at us."

      I am not angry! Ereth raged. If I were angry, I’d turn you all into pink pickled pasta so fast it would make lightning look like a slow slug crawling up a slick hill. So listen up, you tub of tinsel twist.

      This was too much for the young mice. They laughed and squeaked till their sides ached.

      Uncle Ereth, said Sassafras between giggles, "please—please—say something funny again. You are the funniest animal in the whole forest!"

      Staring wrathfully at the young mice, Ereth considered uttering something unbelievably disgusting—dangling doggerels—thought better of it, and wheeled about, heading north as fast as he could.

      Uncle Ereth! the mice shouted after him. "Please stay and say something else funny. Please don’t go!"

      But Ereth refused to stop.

      Sassafras watched the porcupine plunge into the forest, then turned to the others. But what are we going to tell Mom and Dad? he cried. They told us to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

      Oh, don’t worry, Columbine assured her brother. Uncle Ereth always comes back.

      CHAPTER 2

      Ereth Makes a Decision

      KIDS, ERETH MUTTERED as he hurried away. "They think they’re so wonderful. Truth is, they do nothing but make their elders work hard, eat their food, ask for things, break them, then proclaim all adults stupid! And what do kids give in return? Nothing!

      "All that baby-sitting I do . . . all that listening to their endlessly boring stories, dumb jokes, what they learned today . . . hearing Poppy and Rye talk about this one’s problems, that one’s doings . . . attending their parties . . . finding presents for them . . .

      "Well, here it is, my birthday. At least I only have one a year. But do those kids notice? No! Not so much as a gill of grasshopper gas. Do they care what I feel, think, am? Not one pinch of pith pills! Right! The whole world would be better off without kids. So all I say is, keep kids to the rear, blow wind, and turn on the fan!"

      With such thoughts and words churning in his mind, Ereth rushed on. Once, twice, he passed a rabbit, a squirrel, a vole, but when they saw the mood the porcupine was in they retreated quickly, not willing even to call a greeting. After all, the creatures of Dimwood Forest knew Erethizon Dorsatum quite well. Very few had any desire to interfere with him when he was in one of his bad moods—which was clearly the case that morning.

      The old porcupine pressed on, his mind taken up by a careful composition of the things he hated, the insults he had endured, the slights he had suffered. The list was very long. The more he recalled, the grumpier he became, and the faster he hurried on.

      It was an hour before Ereth allowed himself to pause. All his emotion and running had quite worn him out and made him ravenous. Spying a young pine tree, he scrambled over to it and began to peel away the outer bark, then chew on the green layer underneath.

      Good, good, he babbled as he gobbled. This is more like it.

      Suddenly he lifted his nose, sniffed, and frowned. Squirrel-splat soup! The air has changed.

      It was true—the air was different. It had become crisp and had a deep, tangy smell. And now that Ereth thought about it, the days had been growing shorter, the nights longer. It was only a question of when the first snow would arrive.

      Seasons, Ereth thought to himself. Boiled bat butter! Just when you get used to one way, everything changes. Why can’t things ever stay the way they are? Phooey and fried salamander spit with a side order of rat ribbon. I hate change!

      More than ever, Ereth was convinced that he needed something to mark the day. But what? It had to be something special. Something just for him. Then, in a flash, he knew exactly what would please him most. Salt.

      Just to think about salt turned Ereth’s longing into deep desire and dreamy drools. For Ereth, salt was the most delicious food in the whole world. He could shut his eyes and almost taste it. Oh, if only he had a chunk! A piece! Even a lick of salt would salvage the day. No, there was nothing he would not do for the smallest bit of it.

      The old porcupine sighed. Since no one else was going to pay attention to him, he owed it to himself to find some birthday treat, and salt was the perfect thing. But where was he going to find any?

      Though Ereth, with his great knowledge of Dimwood Forest, knew exactly where he was, finding salt was quite another matter. He considered New Farm, a place where some humans kept a whole block of salt in the middle of a lawn. Once, when the block had shattered and fallen to the ground, Ereth had gorged himself for days. Though truly fabulous, that salt was long gone. Moreover, when the humans replaced the block they put it at a height convenient for deer—not porcupines.

      Deer dainties! Ereth snarled with contempt. "Why couldn’t they have put the salt out for me?"

      So the question remained, Where could Ereth find salt?

      Then Ereth remembered: on the far northern side of Dimwood Forest was a lake. Long Lake, the animals called it. On its shore humans had built a log cabin. Rather crudely constructed, it did not even sit on the earth, but on a platform a few feet off the ground. The cabin was used rarely, only when humans wanted to hunt or trap animals. Every year brought frightening stories of deer, fox, and rabbits, among others, being killed, hurt, or maimed by these humans. Hardly a wonder that the cabin—though more often than not deserted—was a place the animals of Dimwood Forest avoided. Just thinking about it made Ereth shudder. And yet . . .

      As Ereth also knew, these humans often left traces of salt on the things they used. Sometimes it was nothing more than a smear of sweat on the handle of a tool, a canoe paddle, or an odd bit of clothing like a hatband. These objects were often stored in that space beneath the cabin.

      Scanty though these tastings were, they were tempting enough for Ereth to venture to the log cabin now and again to satisfy his salt cravings. Once he had been rewarded by finding an almost full bag of salty potato chips. That was a day to remember.

      Hardly a wonder then, that just the possibility of finding even a lick of salt stirred Ereth.

      He looked around. Overhead loomed the great trees that kept the ground dim and gave the forest its name. Such sky as he could see was gray, while the sun

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