Night‑time Drama in a Somerset Garden: The Hedgehog’s Secret Food Pipe

Deep in the darkness, a soft rustle echoes from a narrow plastic tube jutting out of a garden wall. Tiny claws scrape the inner surface, and a spiny‑backed blur darts half‑way through before pausing, its nose twitching in curiosity.

We’re talking about a hedgehog – a creature no larger than a hand, yet bold enough to investigate a three‑metre‑long drainpipe we’d fashioned as an improvised feeding tunnel. The tube is too skinny for our resident cat, a five‑times‑heavier predator, to slither into, so the feline merely sniffs, watches, and eventually loses interest.

For two years we hadn’t seen a hedgehog in our garden at all. Their tell‑tale droppings – glossy, beetle‑studded pellets – were the only proof they existed. The lawns had dried out like crisp seaweed, the flowerbeds were a mess of wilted paper blooms, and we feared the little mammals were simply surviving on a diet of dehydration.

Advice from a well‑known wildlife site suggested we offer cat food and beetles. Easy enough, except our garden is already a cat‑café; three of our own felines use it as a bathroom and a buffet. Could we really add hedgehog take‑away to the mix? And where on earth would we find enough beetles?

In early August we improvised. Our car, fresh from a DIY store, was equipped with a three‑metre‑long PVC pipe sticking out of the passenger‑side window, turned into a makeshift “food chute”. Every night since, we’ve placed a foil tray filled with cat kibble and a handful of beetles three‑quarters of the way down the tube – far beyond the reach of the cats but perfectly sized for the hedgehog’s nose.

Morning after morning, the tray is nudged out the opposite end, empty, as if a tiny pantry clerk had finished the delivery. The real star of the show, however, is our trail camera. It has captured the hedgehog’s nightly escapades in crisp, unexpected detail – a Somerset version of a snow‑leopard prowling its domain, only much smaller and far cuter.

The footage also shows the occasional cat sauntering up to the pipe, sniffing inquisitively, then sauntering away, defeated. The hedgehog, meanwhile, slips through the garden’s slats or the purpose‑made hog hole in the back fence, disappearing into the night after its snack.

We’ll be stopping the supplemental feeding before the hedgehogs go into hibernation, but the question lingers: how will they cope next summer? Do we need to keep a safety net in place until the local insect population rebounds? Only time – and perhaps another camera – will tell.