From Injured Badger In My Shed To Overnight Facebook “Sensation”

When wildlife in need unexpectedly turns up on your doorstep…

I was stirring my porridge on a sleepy Saturday morning when my son’s worried voice jolted me awake.

“Mum, our shed smells of wet dog” — he shouted as he ran back into the house. His bicycle and the ride he was about to go on, already forgotten.

Wet dogs have a distinctive smell — I thought — and remembered that we did not possess one last time I checked. So, I took the pot of porridge off the hob and headed outside.

I threw on a bathrobe to hide my pyjamas. In case a neighbour would wonder what was all the commotion.

I carefully opened the door and peeked inside, half expecting a rabid animal to launch themselves at me.

But the shed seemed quiet. Not as much as the buzz of a fly.

So, somewhat encouraged by the apparent stillness, I slowly scanned the place.

Pram from 15 years ago, check. Three half-dismantled bicycles on top of an old shelf covered with tarpaulin, check. Old PC from ancient times, check.

I stood still and listened, but nothing looked out of the ordinary.

A minute later, baffled by the intense stench without the actual source, I was just about to shut the door when I finally saw it.

Two eyes like buttons were staring at me, dithering between fight and flight.

The badger was standing about a meter away from me, wedged between two bicycles (not the ones on top of the tarp). Surprised just as much as the human towering over him.

How did I not see him earlier? He was standing right beside me. Stares collided for a moment as if to size each other up.

Who would win if it came down to a fight? We both must’ve thought but without serious intentions. The badger stood frozen, eyeing me with suspicion.

So, I did what I thought was the safest thing to do. I shut the door and consulted my local Facebook community. After all, a problem shared is a problem half-solved.

“I have a badger in my shed, what should I do?”

Within seconds, a flood of advice started to pour in. Some of them were good, some creative, and some downright ridiculous. So, I went with the most logical option. I called the local wildlife rescue centre.

An hour later, a young girl rocked up in front of my house, equipped with a cage and a rescue pole. I think that’s what they call it. And the rescue operation of the badger with a questionable odour had begun.

I gave Freya (the rescue lady) a quick briefing of the events, then she opened the door and entered the “arena”. Where is the badger?” — she asked. It made me chuckle. She must’ve scanned the old clutter, just like I did it earlier.

“Look down, it’s between the 2 bikes” — I shouted from outside and hoped the badger hadn’t moved on.

He hadn’t, as I found out soon. Freya was now talking to the frightened animal in a soft voice. But the noises coming from inside my shed concerned me slightly.

The cacophony of opposing wills. Freya trying to catch the badger versus the badger not wanting to get caught.

I feared for their safety. And I wondered how long the pile of household items in my shed would hold before surrendering to gravity.

But Freya was a pro, used to stubborn creatures, and soon she was dragging a wriggling badger at the end of the pole behind.

“Here he is” — she said triumphantly and ushered him into the cage.

My son and I stood there in awe, unable to take our eyes off the badger. This bread loaf-looking, wild animal honoured us with his visit. Not the kind of visit you receive every day.

At the same time, we also tried to unsee the horrible injuries he had suffered. I can’t share pictures of that, it’d be distasteful. Suffice it to say that he was missing one ear (although it doesn’t look bad in this pic), and his rump was heavily bitten.

Freya told us that it was a breeding period for them. And boars (male badgers) -albeit cute looking — can be ferocious when it comes to proving their dominance and choosing a female for reproduction.

Male badgers are extremely protective of their territory during the mating period. And they can be aggressive towards other males from a different group.

They mark their boundaries with faeces, urine, and latrine, usually on both sides of their chosen territory. But fights can occur when another, “non-member” individual intrudes.

So off he went to the local wildlife hospital. Freya reassured me he’d be looked after and nursed back into health. “Call the centre in a week” — she advised, “to see how he is doing”.

Meanwhile, I updated my Facebook post and told the town folks, that the badger’s been taken care of. And he’ll soon be back in his natural habitat, looking for a new fiancée.

Days later, I called the rescue centre to check on him. “He’s making good progress and is given antibiotics” — they told me, and I decided to leave it at that. I wasn’t going to call them again.

They’re the experts. And I’m no helicopter parent.

About a month later, my phone rang. It was a lady from the centre. “I’m calling you about Ana” — she said, then added ” the badger” — when she heard me hesitate. It turned out they named animals after their rescuers.

What a noble gesture.

Hopefully, “Ana,” thought the same, and his male ego remained untouched after the unlucky baptism.

He was now ready to be released — I learnt — and the lady asked me if it was possible to free him in my garden. “He must be familiar with that area” — she explained.

“Sure” — I sang, unable to hide my enthusiasm. And we agreed that Freya would bring him by the same afternoon. I couldn’t wait to see him again. In a better shape this time. So we can say a proper goodbye before allowing him to return home.

By the time the van parked again in front of my house, we were full of anticipation. My son and I. As if someone just found our long-lost dog. And I was seconds away from hugging him again. Placating him with kisses on the nose.

Except, I couldn’t have done any of these, as the animal in the cage would’ve likely bitten mine off. “He’s a healthy boy now” — Freya told me “and we fed him a lot today”. Then she pulled the cage out, and we carried its wriggly content into my garden.

We didn’t let him out straightaway, as we wanted to engrave him in our minds. The black stripes on the sides of his muzzle. The robust torso. And the button eyes I fell in love with the first time I saw him.

I was happy with the results. The badger indeed looked well-fed, and the wounds had beautifully healed. It was time for the big moment, and Freya opened the cage.

“Bread loaf” wasn’t as emotional as us. He took off within the first second of his newly gained freedom and instantly climbed over to my neighbour’s garden through the hole he’d dug under the fence a month before.

He indeed seemed to be familiar with the area.

At this point, I could only hope that my neighbour wasn’t hanging her washing outside at that very moment.

Giving is so much better than receiving — I thought.

And a warm feeling flooded my whole being. I did a good deed. With the help of the rescue centre, we saved this beautiful creature. We gave nature something back.

And I felt on top of the world.

Until… nature decided to return this something to me.

It was already dark when a scratching noise stopped in my tracks. And I put my phone down that had not stopped pinging for hours with notifications of likes and comments.

I updated the local Facebook community. Again. I owed them that much. And they were thrilled to see the video of the release. People remembered him from last time, and the comments kept pouring in.

The post went (kind of) viral on the day. And I had a taste of what being “popular” online meant. It was shocking and fun at the same time.

But back to the scratching that was becoming more and more concerning by the minute. I could only imagine the damage the rascal was doing while desperately searching for an exit route.

It wasn’t personal. It was the survival instinct.

But this fact didn’t make me worry any less.

He’d already carved a decent hole in the back of the shed on his first visit. And — based on the gruesome noises — he was about to make further architectural changes to find a way out.

I called the rescue centre in a frenzy and asked them to collect the badger immediately. He’s not so familiar with the area, after all.

They reassured me Freya would be on her way within minutes. Gosh, she’s a saint, I thought. She deserves a badge.

Meanwhile, my phone went crazy. Ping after ping. Comments upon comments. I could almost see the heat surrounding my device by trying to keep up with all the hard work.

I stood in my bedroom by the (open) window listening out. When I noticed that the scratching, screeching, dismantling noise had suddenly stopped.

Finally some peace, I thought. And I kept listening. Did it get out? Is it free? Or did it get smashed by the wobbly bike that was on top of the tarp?

I stuck my head out, though I could barely see because of the dark. So, I waited for my eyes to adjust. The next thing I saw was the little rascal, — happy and free- trotting off into the distance, momentarily illuminated by the street lamp as he crossed the road.

Goodbye sweetie, I whispered. Have a safe journey home.

But there was no time to get emotional, as Freya just parked her van by the house. For the third time since the badger entered my life.

“He’s gone, now” — I said, with the most apologetic look I could muster. It was past midnight by this time, and the purpose of the visit had suddenly lost its relevance.

Freya insisted we still walked around “just to make sure”. In case he needed some help. So we did while scanning the area carefully.

But the street seemed peaceful except for the faint barking that occasionally interrupted the evening quiet.

In the morning, I was scrolling through the over 600 comments on Facebook when Freya’s message popped up.

I instantly clicked it open, thinking she was checking for an update. It read:

“Guess what. I found a family of badgers on my way home. They were crossing the road and almost got hit by a car. I had to save them, got home at 3.00 am.”

Freya, you’re an angel, and you do deserve a badge.