Northern Views, by Jodi Snyder

As you approach our property, you pass several signs. Signs that say things like "Slow Down," "Turn Around Here," "Keep Out," "No Trespassing," and "Beware of Dog."

It's not that we don't like people; really, it's just that when you live at the end of a dead-end road, you get a little tired of people turning around in your driveway, especially during fishing season. It wouldn't be so bad if they left once they realized someone lives here, but some of them are quite bold -- using the side of the road to relieve themselves, and even picking the strawberries from our front yard as they stand there, stretching, admiring the view of the river. We try to discourage such brash behavior with our less-than-friendly signs.

A friend once teased me about the signs. The first time she came here, she told me years later, she was sure she had come to the wrong place, and the signs made her quite nervous. Once she ran the gauntlet, and saw, at last, the cheerful "welcome" sign posted on our house, she had to laugh. It wasn't very reassuring, she told me.

It turns out we are successful at scaring off the tourists and the wayward fishermen looking for easy river access, and even a few friends, but apparently the wildlife aren't fooled one bit.

Yesterday, my husband came home with news that a porcupine was waddling down the driveway as he returned from several days of working. "I'm only telling you this," he said, "because you might want to keep an eye on Junior."

Junior is our 8-year-old dog, a giant 145-pound German shepherd mix that has frightened off more than one fuel delivery guy in his day. But the truth be known, Junior is perfectly harmless. In fact, one time my husband had to track down the owners of a tiny lap dog in Palmer and ask them to please come and get their dog, because Junior was terrified of the little pipsqueak.

A few years ago, I awoke one night to an unfamiliar sound coming from our front porch. I nudged my sleeping husband awake. "Listen," I whispered, "there is something on the porch." Ed listened with me for a minute, mumbled "porcupine" and returned to his dreams.

Turns out, it wasn't the welcome sign that attracted the porcupine to our home; it was the wood. When my husband built our front deck 10 years ago, he ran out of treated lumber and had to craft the steps out of scrap wood left over from an old project.

He assured me the measure was only temporary. Of course, so was the old shed that had been there for 15 years before he finally tore it down last spring, so you can imagine my confidence in his statement. But, hey, the steps seemed sturdy enough, and I have learned to be happy with each little stage of progress we make on this place.

That is, until the porcupine arrived. Apparently, porcupines prefer to feast on particularly nasty, untreated wood. The nocturnal creature began spending his days -- our nights -- gnawing on our front steps. For a couple of weeks, nearly every night I would wake to the sound of his teeth grinding away against the soft wood, and every morning I would discover more of our steps eaten away, a fresh trail of stray quills scattered across the flower garden and down the hill.

One night, the dog woke me to go out. Half asleep, I stumbled down the stairs and opened the door for Junior without remembering to check first for the porcupine. By this time, he was like a part of the family and could be shooed away easily enough with a bright light shining in his eyes, a quick little broom swat and a few choice words.

Nevertheless, there he was, bigger than life, curled up and cozy on Junior's dog bed, right under the welcome sign. This excited Junior to no end, and when he went to sniff the porcupine, he got a snout full of quills.

The next morning, Junior and I trudged off to the vet. Here it was, the crack of dawn, the back hatch of my Subaru crammed with this monstrous, broken-hearted "galoof" of a dog, dozens of porcupine quills sticking out of his nose in every direction. I'm sure we entertained more than one early-morning commuter who happened along behind us.

About six hours and a couple hundred dollars later, Junior was as good as new.

Ed returned home from work the next day and patiently listened to me complain about the porcupine for a solid 10 minutes. Then he promptly went to the hardware store, bought some lumber, and built the new steps. That was the last time that porcupine camped out on our front porch.

Now if I could just entice the porcupine Ed saw yesterday to start chewing on that old outhouse.

Jodi Snyder lives with her family north of Willow and writes stories for the Frontiersman. You can reach her at 495-6857 or jodi@alaska.net.