PREMIUM PREVIEW: Little Hedgehog and the Snow Tunnel
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This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny Pretzels. I mean, people. Our story today features Little Hedgehog and a tunnel, but not the tunnel you're thinking of. A different tunnel. A snow tunnel. Let's get to it. It's called Little Hedgehog and the Snow Tunnel.

Take it away, Isa and Sophie. Remember, there are no pictures. You'll have to imagine the pictures in your mind. You can imagine them however you want. Okay, here we go!

It was the middle of winter. Little Hedgehog, Bebe, her best friend of all time, and their classmates were desperate for a snow night off from school. Bebe, what if it doesn't snow at all this winter?

My cousin Angus's uncle, Roberto, once told us about a winter back in yesteryear when it only snowed .008 inches. Uncle Roberto and his 18 siblings built snow hedgehogs out of mud.

Tragic, Bebe. He had surprisingly fond memories of it. Oh, okay. But no one was more desperate for a snow night than the teachers. Mind you, not all the teachers at Little Hedgehog and Bebe's school wanted a snow night. Their homeroom teacher, Ms. Hammerthistle, made it clear she did not believe in snow nights.

Students should be in school every day of the year. I have been petitioning to get rid of summer break and weekends to no avail yet.

But every other teacher wanted a snow night. Ms. Swindletooth, the school activities director, performed an original song on the topic over the loudspeaker. And now, your favorite school activities director, Ms. Swindletooth. Snow night, we all want a snow night. Be honest, truly honest.

Don't try to fool me. I know you want a snow knight.

So you should throw some ice over your shoulder, toss some salt into your tea, put a spoon under your pillow. You want a snow night? Listen to me. Draw a snowflake in the dirt now. Eat a beetle at twilight. Because you, because me, because we all want a snow night.

Uh, thank you, Ms. Windletooth, for that enriching performance.

Little Hedgehog and Bebe had thrown ice over their shoulders, accidentally hitting Little Hedgehog's dad. Hey, what is this, ice? Where did you get this? They'd added salt to their tea. Oh, that is salty. You mean salt tea. Good one, Bebe! They'd slept with spoons beneath their pillows for weeks.

They'd drawn snowflakes in the dirt. They'd eaten beetles at precisely twilight. Still, no snow. Until one evening, the old crow who lived in a nest down by the river predicted a blizzard. "It will snow for twenty-six hours. If I am wrong, you can fry me up in

in a barbecue. It was a confident statement and word traveled fast. The forest crows told the squirrels. The squirrels told the chipmunks. The chipmunks told the porcupines, one of whom was a teacher at Little Hedgehog's school. She made an announcement over the loudspeaker. Redouble your

Efforts, children. This is our big chance to get the snowdite of our, I mean, your dreams. Add extra salt to your tea when you get home. Wake up at twilight and eat seven beetles. There was a frenzy of excitement as the students filed out of school at the end of the night. The students' hopes were so high, they stayed up past dawn and did no homework.

They threw blocks of ice over their shoulders. They put serving spoons under their pillows. Little Hedgehog, her own hopes sky high, convinced her dad to allow Bebe to spend the night at their burrow. The two friends fell asleep on the floor of Little Hedgehog's room.

The days were short this time of year, and the sun passed over the underground burrow in a few brief hours, then sank below the hill once more. Little Hedgehog was fast asleep on the floor of her room, beside her best friend, dreaming of hippos wearing ill-fitted jackets. "Why do you have such tiny jackets on?" she murmured.

When all of a sudden, inside her dream, Little Hedgehog heard heavy footsteps and a strange voice. "Forget about our jackets. We help each other get them on and off, so it's okay that they're too tight. Don't worry about it. Just wake up, Prickle Bear, because it's a snow night." "But the jackets... the seams are about to pop..." "Never you mind. Just wake up, Little Hedgehog. Wake up! It's a snow night!"

Little Hedgehog bolted up in bed. Her dad was leaning over her. Oh, hi, Dad. Greetings, Mr. Hedgehog. Oh, hey, Bebe. Little Hedgehog, you were sleep-talking about hippos in tiny jackets.

They were so ill-fitting, Dad. I, too, had a dream about hippos in tiny jackets. Little Hedgehog's eyes went wide with disbelief. Do you mean jackets so tiny that you'd worry the seams would pop if the hippos attempted to button them? Not that tiny. The hippos would be able to button the jackets without straining the seams. Whew!

That was really close to being a strange coincidence. Too true. Mr. Hedgehog cleared his throat. Ahem. Uh, so, like I said, it's a snow night. Really? Truly. Finally. They just announced it over the radio. Listen. Mr. Hedgehog held up his portable radio and pressed a button. Hi,

I repeat, the following forest schools are closed for a snow night. Little Forest School, Forest Little School... Oh, that's us, Dad. ...and Primary Forest Academy. Actually, sorry about that, Primary Forest Academy. There was a smudge on my paper. You do have school. Everybody aside from Primary Forest Academy, have a fun night in the snow. Yay! Yay. From across the room, in his leafy enclosure, Little Guy, Little Hedgehog's pet chameleon,

Yay. Little Hedgehog and Bebe immediately ran to the burrow door and flung it open. Eek. Expecting to see a beautiful, snowy forest landscape. Instead, they saw an unbroken wall of white.

A tiny avalanche of snow fell upon their heads. That was kind of funny, Bebe. Little Hedgehog said, brushing snowflakes off her prickles. It was. But also, I am noticing we are snowed in. I am noticing that too. Over a breakfast of snails and mushrooms, Little Hedgehog and Bebe considered their predicament. If

We're snowed in. We may not be able to go on a marvelous adventure. Bebe, I am having a major case of von Hasna. As am I. Mr. Hedgehog, who was making himself a cup of tea, turned to look at his daughter.

I may live to regret this, but what did you just say? Funhouse? Something? Little Hedgehog and Bebe exchanged a significant look. Oh, Dad. Oh, Mr. Hedgehog. Funhasna! It stands for fear of not having a snow knight anecdote. You've explained it, and it makes less sense than it did before. It makes total sense, Dad. A

Allow Bebe to explain. Mr. Hedgehog, after a snow night, students are encouraged to share stories of how they spent their snow nights. Dad, last year so many kids had these amazing anecdotes. Bebe, do you remember Percy's story? I will never forget it.

So my family all hopped in our wild turkey and flew down to a tropical island where we spent our snow night on a beach making sand castles and befriending a ghost crab named Marcus. We just got back 10 minutes ago. Is it just me or is it really cold in here?

Mr. Hedgehog furrowed his brow. His family has its own turkey? Percy's dad is a famous ornithologist. Oh, Bebe, do you remember Sandy's snow knight anecdote from last year? Do I ever. My brother and I whittled spears at sundown and went ice fishing on the frozen lake.

We spared seventeen fish. One had fangs. Bebe, if we're snowed in, I don't see how we will ever come up with an amusing snow knight anecdote. It is a conundrum. Mr. Hedgehog was unmoved. Snow nights should just be fun, not fodder for stories to tell other people. When I was a kid, we made snowmen and went sledding. It was great. But

But before Little Hedgehog and Bebe could reply to this reasonable, albeit old-timey, comment, there came a knock at the burrow door.

When Mr. Hedgehog opened the door, he expected to encounter a wall of snow. Instead, in the few minutes he'd spent hearing about "Fonhosna," something else had appeared. Leading away from the front door was a tall, glistening tunnel. A tunnel made entirely of snow.

Inside the tunnel was a rabbit in a jumpsuit and a hard hat. The hard hat had openings for his tall ears, in case you were wondering. Anyway, upon seeing the snow tunnel, Mr. Hedgehog nodded. Huh, I forgot about this. To understand what Mr. Hedgehog forgot, we'll have to go back in time to the middle of the summer, when this same rabbit had shown up. And

at the borough door. There is so much more to this story. You can hear the full episode by becoming a Little Stories Premium subscriber. Visit littlestoriespremium.com to join. And thank you, as always, for listening in.