Ever since I moved here (six years ago at time of writing), I’ve had a skunk living under my deck. I’m quite fond of the beast, despite that it eats my day lilies when they bloom (but it also eats slugs!).

And by “it,” I’d better refer to it as “she.” I accommodate her passage to my back garden by leaving a gap under the fence on two sides. She has to pass through two other properties before she can get home; thankfully my immediate neighbours seem to feel the same way about her, and don’t freak out when their dog starts barking about the silent black-and-white intruder. (Yes, my dog once got sprayed. It’s a rite of passage for dogs!)

I took the above photo early one morning, when I saw her from my chair vantage by the patio door. She came in from her night of partying (foraging) and took a long, long, looooong drink at the dish. She was looking rather hour-glass shaped. She was going to need a place soon. She then trundled under the deck –yay!– and then, a minute later, waddled back out – uh oh. Was the space already occupied?