One sniffling, shuffling and fabulously damp Enlgish evening Mr. Badger woke up.
He streched out in the narrow confines of his burrow.
All he could smell was the loamy soil that surrounded him and that curious badger smell of generations of his family that had lived there safely. He loved the comforting damp of the place. The way is was full of bits of moulted fur and the distant rustling sound of his family shuffling along the burrows. It was very comforting. Very safe.
He stretched out his small but powerful legs and snuffled his black and white snout and made a curious noise of such satisfaction that it even surprised him. It felt so good to be alive. So magical. He then rolled over and made his way along the tunnel. A tunnel that had been there for decades and kept the badgers safe on the edge of the wood. His snout was twitching. He could smell the fresh air of a new day as he rustled along towards the front of the set.
Once outside he scuttled around. He felt good and once more rolled on his back with his legs stretching towards the sky and his his eyes shut tight. His powerful claws separating and closing again with the sheer pleasure of enjoying his own body in the dusk air. He felt the leaves beneath his thick fur and in the distance could hear the snuffling sound of the young badgers as they emerged from the extensive tunnel system in the clay banks. It was so good to be alive in the misty early evening autumn rain. Everything smelt so good.
Suddenly he heard a cracking sound and looked up and there were two humans staring at him. One of them took aim with a gun and blew his stomach away with a shotgun. Bits of matted fur and intestines were spattered across the leaves as Mr. Badger’s body suddenly went limp.
‘That’s one more fucking badger saved from the curse of TB’ joked the human, adding as he kicked the body to the side and took aim at one of the terrified young badgers, ‘it’s for their own good you know…’