“I had a hedgehog once,” I told Ola.
“When I was a teenager,” I said. “I worked in a petstore.”
“What was his name?” she asked.
“Um, I’ve forgotten,” I said. “Well, I remember my friend’s hedgehog. She named hers Hegel.”
“Hegel?” asked Ola.
“Hegel. The German Idealist,” I said. “Dude who wrote the dialectic of Lordship and Bondage.”
“Now I remember,” I said. “Schpink. I named my hedgehog Schpink. I even remember where I buried him. Up Provo Canyon in the woods next to the Girl Scout camp. In a plastic Tupperware container. That’s going to be a nasty surprise for somebody someday.”
“Someday,” said Ola. “That stuff doesn’t break down.”
“Long after we’re all dead, when our species is gone and has been replaced, some alien lifeform is going to find that little plastic container with a very nasty hedgehog corpse in it.”
“Like Jurassic Park,” Ola put in. “They could use the DNA to revive hedgehogs.”
“It’s a future hedgehog fossil. Sort of.”
We thought about the small distant corpse and wrinkled our noses.