I decided against lighting a fire yesterday. Sometime during the night, the temperature inside dropped below 60 degrees Fahrenheit. When I wake up at 6:30 to a dark and cold house, I start thinking seriously of hibernating.

At the approach of winter, migratory birds "get the urge for going" while those of us who are stuck here settle in for the long haul. At my house we've got our flannel blankets out and cords of firewood stacked beside the house. Our gray squirrel population is busy rustling through the leaves. Shagbark hickories are one of the tree nuts they stock in their larders. The green casings are much smaller than black walnuts and enclose a shell hiding a nut with a delicate taste reminiscent of maple syrup. When not foraging, squirrels can be seen gathering twigs and leaves to build shelters in tree cavities and bare canopies. The big balls of dry leaves visible in the tree tops all winter are actually squirrel nests, known as dreys. Not all dreys are occupied. Unlike in the summer, when leaves provide a screen, winter nests are exposed to predators. It's helpful for a squirrel to add a few red herrings to her territory.

The striped skunk is another mammal which becomes very active in fall. Young skunks are venturing out on their own, encountering such dangers as roads and predators. Skunks of all ages are out fattening up and searching for cozy dens. Neither squirrels nor skunks actually hibernate, but they need fat reserves and shelter to hide from the worst of winter. Normally skunks are crepuscular, which means they move about in the twilight of dawn and dusk. During the fall and mating season in the early spring, skunks may be active during the day. Unfortunately, other than one skunk on the side of the road, the skunks I’ve seen lately have all been black and white rags on the road. Our dog Bear was luckier.

Or so he probably thought at first. I’m sorry to say that I have a close relationship with someone who thinks “lunch,” or at least “toy,” when he hears a small furry creature in distress. Here was an entertaining mammal about cat-sized but not part of the family, not up a tree, and not down a hole. It even did some fascinating stomping while it held its ground. Skunks actually have to physically produce their version of mace, so they would rather warn predators away than deplete their supply. But a warning, like any communication, only works if both sides understand the signals.

Poor optimistic Bear. The smell lingered around our house and clung to his boisterous yet wet figure. Mephitis, the genus and species of the striped skunk, means foul odor in Latin. We all agreed that the sulfurous musk did not necessarily smell bad, just incredibly strong. I very much doubt that happy-go-lucky Bear learned his lesson, since his only trauma during the whole episode happened when we had to give him two baths and a rub down with Nature’s Miracle Skunk Remover. He wasn’t hit in the eyes, which would have caused temporary blindness. According to the NYS DEC website, it also produces pain, paranoia, and a “hidden fear that can be triggered years later by the musk odor.” I’m glad our puppy didn’t get hit in the eyes. Mostly.