When I was little,my uncle Pete had a necktie with a porcupine painted on it.I thought that necktie was just about the neatest thing in the world.Uncle Pete would stand patiently before me while I ran my fingers over the silky surface,half expecting to be stuck by one of the quills.Once,he let me wear it.I kept looking for one of my own,but I could never find one.I was twelve when we moved from Pennsylvania to Arizona.When Uncle Pete came to say good-bye,he was wearing the tie.I thought he did so to give me one last look at it,and I was grateful. But then,with a dramatic flourish,he whipped off the tie and draped it around my neck."It's yours",he said."Going-away present."I love that porcupine tie so much that I decide to start a collection. Two years after we settled in Arizona, the number of ties in my collection was still one. Where do you find a porcupine necktie in Mica,Arizona---or anywhere else,for that matter? On my fourteenth birthday,I read about myself in the local newspaper.The family section ran a regular feature about kids on their birthdays,and my mother had called in some info.The last sentence read:"As a hobby,Leo Borlock collects porcupine neckties."Several days later,coming home from school,I found a plastic bag on our front step.Inside was a gift-wrapped pack-age tied with yellow ribbon.The tag said "happy birthday!"I opened the package.It was a porcupine necktie.Two porcupines were tossing darts with their quills,while a third was picking its teeth.I inspected the box,the tag,the paper.Nowhere could I find the giver's name.I asked my parents.I asked my friends.I called my uncle Pete.Everyone denied knowing anything about it. At the time I simply considered the episode a mystery.It did not occur to me that I was being watched.We were all being watched.
