Honey Badger Advice

Author's Note:

I am no longer on Twitter. I concluded long ago that it gives me nothing but anxiety. However, in my brief stint as a Twitter user, I came across a post by Laura Anne Gilman (a very talented writer who I suggest you look up) in which she referenced her "emotional support honey badger." I told her I loved the idea of an emotional support honey badger, she sent me a picture of him, and we had a nice little exchange.

The idea stuck with me, and one day, when I was feeling a bit down, I decided to write a little story about an emotional support honey badger. It borrows heavily from the PBS Nature episode "Honey Badgers: Masters of Mayhem" (season 32 episode 13), and maybe from the viral YouTube clip about the honey badger. 

   You might believe that grown-ups are so old and experienced that we know how to handle any problem. You are only partly right. We are old, and we usually have enough experience to handle smaller, child-sized problems, but life always seems to find a way to give us bigger, grown-up sized problems. So in just the same way you might go ask a grown-up for help when you have a problem, grown-ups often have to ask other, wiser grown-ups for help. (Or at least they should. Some grown-ups think they can do everything all by themselves and get into all sorts of trouble.)

Anyway, I have a very good friend that I always visit when I need some advice. His name is DC, and he truly is a very good friend, but there’s something you should know about him… DC is a honey badger. 

In case you don’t know, honey badgers are small, only a little bigger than a cat, with black fur on their body with white stripes running along the top. Even though they are small, they are ferocious and tough. No one likes getting on the wrong side of a honey badger. And they are extremely clever; I think that’s why they give such good advice.

One day, I went to visit DC at his burrow (a tunnel that badgers dig to live in), because I had a problem. I was too big to fit all the way, so I just knelt down and stuck my head inside the front door (that was actually a very dirty hole) so we could talk.

“I am sick of my job,” I told him, “I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s all just numbers and money, and I get so bored. I want to write books, instead.”

DC was sitting on his comfy little armchair, scratching his belly (he did that a lot, I’m sure all that fur got really itchy.)

“So quit and write books,” he said in his rough honey-badger voice, “I don’t see the problem.”

“I can’t!” I said, “I need my job to make money! It’s too risky to just quit! It’s like I’m trapped in this job so I can stay safe…”

DC was scratching under his chin, now.

“Trapped to be safe, huh? I know a thing or two about that. Let me tell you a story. Back when I lived in South Africa, I was hunting chickens. And I found this nice farmer had captured a bunch of them for me and was keeping them in this nice little house on his property.”

“Uh, DC,” I said, “I don’t think those were for yo—”

“Hush!” DC said, “Don’t interrupt. Anyway, the farmer forgot to unlock the door, so I had to break through the wall to get to those tasty chickens, but boy was it worth it. I ate my fill, and more besides. I was so full, I could barely move and was so sleepy I decided it would be better to take a nap right outside that nice little chicken house. But when I woke up, I was trapped! Some ranger locked me up in some enclosure miles away. Well, I didn’t like that, so I raised all sorts of ruckus, and the ranger came out to talk. He told me he was going to keep me there, and give me food, and I’d be safe and happy for the rest of my life. I tried to tell him that maybe I was safe, but a strong, tough, independent honey badger like me could never be happy being trapped like that. But I don’t think rangers listen right, and he acted like I didn’t say anything at all.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“Well, the enclosure had this wooden fence, see, so I broke one of the slats, slipped through the gap, then went into the ranger’s house and ate all his food.”

“Wow! So you escaped?” I asked.

“Well…” DC looked embarrassed, “I ate too much food again, and fell asleep. Again. When I woke up, I was right back in the enclosure. But now there was a metal fence instead.”

“Oh no. So then what did you do?” I asked.

“I just dug a tunnel under the metal fence. And I saw the ranger had bought all this new food, so I went back in his house to sample it.”

“Then you escaped?” I asked.

DC scratched behind his head.

“Kinda. But I was all slow, see? Because I was so full from all his food. So they put me back in the enclosure, but this time they made a big concrete wall with deep foundations.”

“How did you get out of that one?” I asked.

DC shrugged.

“I dug a deeper tunnel, all the way under the foundations. Took a little longer, is all. And before you ask, no I didn’t escape that time, either. The ranger saw me digging the tunnel, and caught me right as I was coming out. Then they poured concrete underneath the whole enclosure. They put some dirt on top of it, to make me feel comfortable, but there was no way to tunnel out.”

“Oh, so you were trapped real good,” I said.

DC shook his head.

“Nope. They left a rake in there, to tidy up leaves and such, and I just leaned it against the wall and climbed up and over.”

“Wow,” I said, “that is amazing!”

“Course, I shouldn’t have taken that nap in the ranger’s bed,” DC continued, “He found me right quick, and they took the rake away.”

“So now you really were trapped,” I said.

DC scoffed.

“No way! I just waited for a rainy day when the dirt in the enclosure got all muddy. Then I packed the mud up in a big pile in the corner, and climbed out.”

“How did the ranger catch you that time?” I asked.

DC gave me an angry look.

“Why do you assume he caught me?” he demanded.

“Well… He caught you every other time, so i just thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong! I’ll have you know I went into the ranger’s house, left muddy paw prints all over his carpet, then left, never to be seen again.”

DC folded his arms and scowled at me. I wasn’t afraid. That’s just how honey badgers are. Grumpy.

“So how does that help me?” I asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

DC forgot he was supposed to be angry and leaned forward to talk to me.

“Look, if I was clever and strong and brave enough to escape all those times, then I definitely was clever and strong and brave enough to live in the wild, right?”

“I suppose so,” I said.

“Of course it’s so. So if you’re clever and strong and brave enough to leave your job the right way, you’ll be ready to be on your own when you do.”

“But… but how do I do it the right way?” I asked.

DC stood up off his armchair, and started rummaging through his cupboard for snacks.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said, his head buried in the pantry, “Let me know how it goes.”

My life got very busy after that visit, and I didn’t have a chance to see him again for several months. But I finally got some free time and decided it would be nice to stop by for a visit again.

“Hi, DC,” I said after sticking my head in the edge of his burrow, “How are you?”

“Hungry,” DC answered from his small kitchen, “I’m just making some toast. Would you like a piece?”

“Yes, thank you,” I answered.

DC spread some butter on two pieces of toast, then completely covered them with spoonfuls of delicious honey (he is a honey badger, after all.) There was a brief moment of confusion when he made to give me my toast, since my arms were stuck outside the burrow, but DC found a solution.

“Here,” he said, and shoved the entire piece of toast in my mouth.

I coughed and tried not to choke while DC settled himself in his comfy armchair.

“Fank oo,” I said while my eyes watered.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” DC said, and took a small, polite nibble of his toast. 

   We ate in silence for a little while. I chewed very carefully, as I thought it would be very rude to accidentally spit out half-chewed toast on DC’s rug. But eventually, I was able to swallow it all down.

“So what brings you here?” DC asked.

“I just wanted to stop by,” I said, “and thank you for your excellent advice last time.”

“Things going well, then?” DC asked.

“Oh yes, very well,” I said, “I saved up some money and talked with my work. They’re letting me work part-time, and now I have lots of time to write my books!”

“Well, good,” DC said, “I knew you could do it.”

He really is a very good friend.

“Yes, things are almost perfect,” I said, “Except, well…”

“Spit it out,” DC said.

“It’s just that I’ve been submitting some of my writing to contests and publishers, and some people say the meanest things about it.”

“Stings a bit, does it?” he asked.

I nodded. Or tried to. My head was stuck in a burrow and there wasn’t much room to move it.

DC leaned back in his chair and scratched his belly.

“Let me tell you a story about stings. When I was just a young cub, my momma brought me some honeycomb one time. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, and I begged my momma for more. But it ain’t always around, see? Takes time for the bees to make it. Anyway, she promised me the next time she found a hive, I could come along and eat all the honeycomb I wanted. Every day I would ask her, and every day she’d say, ‘No, eat your cobra and be grateful!’”

“Wait, cobra? You would eat cobras?” I asked.

“What? Of course! Cobra is delicious. Lots of healthy protein in there, too. Though the venom isn’t very fun… But that’s a story for another time. Anyway, finally, my momma tells me she found a new hive, and I could come along and help her get the honeycomb, like she promised. We walked a ways to get there and found a hive all abuzz in this old tree stump. 

   “‘There it is,’ my momma said, ‘Go ahead. Eat anything you want.’  

   “So I walked closer, all excited like, when out of nowhere, I felt a big, burning, prick, right on my ear! I yelped, and jumped about a mile up in the air. 

   “‘Momma!’ I said, ‘What was that?!’ 

   “‘A bee sting,’ my momma said, calm as can be. 

   “‘I don’t like it,’ I said. 

   “My momma shrugged. ‘But you like the honeycomb, right?’

   “‘Yeah….’ I said. 

   “‘More than you mind the bee stings?’ she asked.

   “I had to think about it for a minute, but eventually I said, ‘Yeah.’

   “Momma shrugged again, and scratched her belly.

   “‘Well, then, you just gotta go get the honeycomb anyway. The bee stings are just a part of it, but that don’t make the honeycomb any less sweet.’”

   “So what did you do?” I asked.

   DC frowned at me.

   “What do you think? I got some bee stings and ate some delicious honeycomb. And I’m so glad I did, because I found something even better than honeycomb in that hive.”

   “Confidence?” I asked.

   DC looked confused.

   “Confi—? What are you talking about? No! Bee larvae.”

   “Bee larvae?” I asked.

   “Yeah, you know, little wormy looking things. Grow up into bees. They are scrumptious!”

   “Really?” I said, “I, uh, I haven’t tried them.”

   “Well, you’re certainly not having any of mine!” DC said, jumping to his feed, his paws balled into angry fists.

   “No, of course not. I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you in that way,” I said, placatingly.

   DC scowled at me suspiciously, but sat back in his chair.

“Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that stings are part of the process, you can’t escape it. If you think the honeycomb is worth it, you’ll endure a lot of stings. And you might find something even better than honeycomb waiting for you at the end.”

I pondered his words, while DC got up and walked over to his refrigerator. He pulled out a jar full of small, white wormy looking things, which I assumed were bee larvae. DC began slurping up handfuls of them and moaning in delight. I (and my stomach) felt it was time to go.

“Thank you for your time, DC,” I said, “It is always a pleasure.”

“Oor ‘elcung,” he said, waving with his mouth full of larvae, “‘Ee ‘oo ‘a’er!”

Well, I did exactly as DC suggested. I continued my writing, and there were bee stings aplenty, but I accepted and ignored them as best I could. And things were going well. I won some writing contests, and an editor at an important publisher offered to publish one of my books. And in the process, I found my own “bee larvae”, that I didn’t expect: many new, interesting, exciting, and devoted friends, who shared my love of writing. Their friendship was worth more to me than all the success in the world.

But still, even though I had many reasons to be happy in my new career and with my new friends, I was struggling in other areas of my life. Bad luck seemed to strike me at every turn. My family got sick, things kept breaking around the house, and my beloved dog fell seriously ill.

I felt very low, and not at all capable of handling it. So I resolved, once again, to visit my good friend, DC, and seek his support and counsel.

“Get out!” he yelled at me the moment I stuck my head in.

“I beg your pardon,” I said, “Are you busy at the moment?”

DC was sitting in his armchair, a book open across his lap. He glared at me over the spectacles he was wearing.

“I am reading, so yes, I am very busy. Go away!” he said, rudely. “Please,” he added, much less rudely.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I really would like to talk to you. May I wait?”

He harrumphed in an annoyed way, but said, “Suit yourself,” and returned to his book.

I stayed there for a quarter of an hour, head in the hole, knees on the grass, and my bottom in the air, waiting for him to finish.

Finally, he marked his place carefully with a bookmark, shut the book, and leaned it against the side of his armchair.

“Now what do you want?” he asked, gruffly, but not unkindly.

I explained everything that was going on. He leaned forward in his chair, listening intently, and asking questions. As I have said, he really is a truly wonderful friend.

“Hmm,” he said, when I finished, “Can’t resolve this on an empty stomach.”

He hopped off his chair, opened his fridge, and pulled out a plate of slippery, ropey, foul-smelling meat. Then he settled himself in his armchair and tore a great big bite out of it with his teeth.

“Mmm,” he said, chewing, “That’s good cobra. Where are my manners, would you care for some?”

He held out the plate, and its nauseous order wafted into my nose.

“No,” I said, struggling to keep my breakfast in my stomach, “Thank you. It doesn’t agree with me.”

“Too bad,” he said, but he didn’t look like he minded. More for him, I suppose.

“Cobra isn’t an easy meat to get, you know,” DC said, his mouth full. “You can’t just get it from your butcher.”

“How do you get it?” I asked, politely.

“Only one way, you got to hunt it yourself,” he said, and gave an enormous swallow. “And that’s no picnic, let me tell you. They don’t like getting hunted, see? So they fight back. And they got these long fangs, full to bursting with venom.”

“How do you avoid getting bit?” I asked.

DC shrugged.

“You don’t,” he said, “You get bit. A few times. And then you can feel the venom flowing around inside you, eating you up inside, trying to bring you down. In fact, it feels a lot like what you were just telling me about. It seems like too much to handle, and you wonder how on earth you are supposed to get through it.”

“But… you did get through it?” I asked. He gave me an odd look.

“Do you think I’m a ghost or something? Some kinda zombie? Of course I got through it, else I wouldn’t be here to tell you about it.”

“But how?” I asked.

DC shrugged, and took another bite of cobra.

“Only one thing for it,” he said, “I took a nap.”

I paused for a moment, wondering if there was more to it.

“You took a nap?” I said.

“Yep.”

“That’s all?”

“Yep.”

“And that worked?”

“Of course, it worked,” he said, and gave me that odd look again, “Seriously, why do you keep thinking you’re talking to a dead honey badger? It’s starting to creep me out…” 

“No, no, I don’t think you’re dead,” I said.

“You don’t?” he asked, looking skeptical.

“Not at all,” I said, “I was just surprised. It seemed too simple.”

He still looked like he didn’t quite believe me, but didn’t press the issue.

“That’s just it,” he said, “When a cobra bites you, the simple things are the ones you forget about, but they’re the ones that help the most.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I still didn’t understand.

DC grumbled.

“Look, you’ve got all sorts of bad stuff going on, right?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?” he asked.

I considered it.

“No, not really. There’s just been so much going on, I’m having a hard time—”

“What about food? You eating well? Good, healthy stuff and enough of it?” he asked

“Well… No, I guess not. Everything else just seems so much more—”

“Any exercise?” DC interrupted, “Getting some fresh air, getting the body moving?”

“No, not at all,” I said.

DC grinned at me.

“And you wonder why you aren’t feeling well?” he said and took another big bite of cobra.

“But DC,” I said, “sleep and food and exercise won’t solve any of my problems.”

DC rubbed his eyes with his paws, frustrated.

“No, they won’t. But you’ll be stronger, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Better mood when you’re well-fed and well-rested, right?”

“Yes…”

“So who do you think can handle your problems better? You when you aren’t taking care of yourself, or you when you are?”

“I suppose… the healthy me will do everything better,” I said.

“Darn straight,” DC said, settling back into his chair, “Now is there anything else you want from me.”

“No,” I said, “but thank you for—”

“Good,” he said, pulling his book across his lap and carefully opening it to the page he marked earlier, “I’ll see you later.”

DC was right. I started making sure I was eating healthy and sleeping right, and tried to go on walks every day. It didn’t fix any of my problems, but I did notice that I didn’t feel quite so hopeless anymore. After a while, things calmed back down, and my life progressed.

My book did well. Really well. My editor asked if I could write another one, but gave me a deadline that was soon. Much too soon. In order to write the book that quickly, I would have to quit my other job completely. I was terrified. What if my second book wasn’t as good? The economy wasn’t doing great, after all. What if I left my job, but couldn’t find another one if I needed it? What if people stopped buying books?!

My editor needed a decision quickly, so I went immediately to DC.

“How are things?” DC asked, “Better than last time?”

“Yes, much better,” I said, “Thank you for asking.”

DC was sitting in his armchair, listening to a Mozart record. He went over to the record player, turned it off, and put the record back in its protective sleeve, careful not to scratch it with his long claws.

“So this is just a social visit?” DC asked, scratching his belly as he returned to his armchair.

“Er… well no, actually, I do need some more of your advice,” I said, and DC laughed.

“You’ve been here so much, I’m almost all out of advice!” DC said.

“Yes, well… I actually do wonder if you’ll be able to understand this problem,” I said.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I have been asked to write another book, you see—”

“Ah, say no more,” DC said, pulling his spectacles out from somewhere in his fur and placing them on his face, “I’d be happy to proofread it for you. Where’s the manuscript?”

“Oh… no, it isn’t written yet…” I said.

“Oh…” DC looked disappointed as he removed his glasses, “Well, what’s the problem then?”

“Well, in order to finish the book by the deadline, I would have to completely quit my job, and I am terrified by the very idea,” I said.

“Hmm, that is a pickle,” DC said, scratching under his chin, “Why did you think I couldn’t understand that problem? Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“Well, I just meant the part about being afraid,” I said.

“What about it?” he asked.

“Well… you’re a honey badger,” I said.

“So?”

“Honey badgers don’t get afraid,” I said.

DC looked shocked, then offended, and hopped to his feet.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, and pointed one of his sharp claws at me, “You don’t get to tell me about honey badgers, got it? I’m the honey badger here, I’m the one who explains what we feel and don’t feel, are we clear?”

“Crystal,” I said, a little afraid, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You’re darn right you shouldn’t have assumed,” DC said, angrily flopping back onto his armchair, “So now you better listen up when I tell you that honey badgers do feel afraid, just the same as every other creature.”

“But you’re so ferocious and—”

“I’m sorry, it sounds like you’re trying explain honey badgers to me again, which of course, you’re not, because no one is stupid enough to do that right after I tell them not to!” He glared at me.

“No,” I said, and coughed awkwardly, “No, of course not. Please go on.”

“Hmph. Like I was saying, honey badgers do get scared. Just as scared as anything else, I imagine,” he said. He looked at me, and sighed. “Go ahead and ask your question. I can see it on your face.”

“I just… Why don’t honey badgers act afraid?” I asked. 

   DC stroked his chin.

   “You know what I like about what you just said? You asked a question, you didn’t try to explain nothin’. Well done. To answer your question, let me tell you about the time I fought a lion.”

   “You fought a lion?” I asked, aghast.

   DC scowled at me.

   “I didn’t like that question as much. Wrong tone, all disbelievin’. Yes, I fought a lion. I was off on a walkabout, hoping to come across a beehive, when I came across this dead antelope. The meat was fresh, and it seemed a shame to waste it, so I started helping myself.”

   DC licked his lips.

   “Mmm, haven’t had good antelope in a while. Anyway, I guess Mufasa picked up on the scent and—”

   “His name was Mufasa?” I asked.

   “I don’t know, I never asked,” DC said, “On account of the big fight I was about to tell you about.”

   “Then why did you call him Mufasa?” I asked.

   DC ground his teeth.

   “Just seems like the right name for a lion, that okay with you? Now stop interrupting me!”

   DC shook his head.

   “Anyway, Mufasa showed up, trying to tell me the antelope belonged to him and I should scram. Of course, lions don’t talk right, so it all just came out in growls and roars, but he made his point clear. And let me tell you, I was terrified. He was ten times my size, teeth like knives and claws like razors. A real killing machine, you know? Every fiber of my body was telling me to run like the wind, and hope that big cat didn’t feel like playing with this mouse.”

   DC paused to let the tension build.

“So what did you do?” I blurted.

DC smiled.

“I made a choice. See that’s the thing about fear. It’s real good at telling you that something is wrong. It’s real bad at telling you what you should do about it. My fear was telling me to run away, but that was the wrong choice.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m a honey badger, and we don’t run from fights,” he said, “Not that I recommend it to you, mind. If you see a lion, you should probably run, because I don’t think you’d last 10 seconds against—”

“Yes, okay, I promise I won’t try to fight any lions,” I said, “But what did you do?”

“Oh right. Well, I knew that if I ran, I could never call myself a honey badger again. So I chose to do the right thing. Which was, of course, fighting the lion.”

“How did you survive?” I asked.

“Another good question. Well, honey badgers fight, but we don’t fight clean, if you catch my drift. We’re sneaky and mean, and since it was a boy lion, I just went right after his—”

“Ah, okay I got it,” I cut him off.

DC looked disappointed.

“You don’t want to hear how I won the fight?” he asked.

“I think I got the gist of it,” I said.

DC frowned.

“Well, okay. So the point of it all is like I said. You don’t let fear make your choices for you. You listen to it, you figure out what is making you afraid, and then you make the right choice. Sometimes that means listening to your fear. Sometimes, it means you’ve got to ignore it and fight a lion. Not literally, you understand. Really, you should never fight a lion. But anyway, that’s all I have to say.”

I thought about it.

“That makes a lot of sense, DC,” I said.

“That’s why I said it,” he said, “Glad to have helped you. Now leave.”

As I pulled my head out of the burrow and climbed to my feet, I could hear his voice echoing out the ground.

“And don’t wait so long before you come back!” he called.

I followed DC’s advice, as I always did, and things have turned out pretty well, so far. He really is a clever fellow, and a truly great friend.