Lesson LX

The Skunk

Leading thought—The skunk has depended so long upon protecting itself from its enemies by its disagreeable odor, that it has become stupid in this respect, and seems never to be able to learn to keep off of railroad tracks. It is a very beneficial animal to the farmer because its food consists so largely of injurious insects and rodents.

Method—The questions should be given the pupils and they should answer them from personal observations or inquiries.

Observations—1. How large is a skunk? Describe its fur. Where does the black and white occur in the fur? Of what use is the white to the skunk? Is the fur valuable? What is its commercial name?

2. What is the shape of the skunk’s head? The general shape of the body? The tail? Are the front legs longer or shorter than the hind legs? Describe the front feet. For what are they used?

3. Where and how does the skunk make its nest? Does it sleep like a woodchuck during the winter? What is its food? How does it catch its prey? Does it hunt for its food during the day or the night? Does the skunk ever hurry? Is it afraid? How does it protect itself from its enemies? Do you think that the skunk’s freedom from fear has rendered the animal less intelligent?

4. At what time do the skunk kittens appear? Have you ever seen little skunks playing? If so, describe their antics. How is the nest made soft for the young ones?

5. How does the skunk benefit farmers? Does it ever do them any injury? Do you think that it does more good than harm?

6. Describe the skunk’s track as follows: How many toes show in the track? Does the palm or heel show? Are the tracks near together? Do they form a single or a double line?

Supplementary reading—Squirrels and Other Fur Bearers, Burroughs.

Saw a little skunk coming up the river bank in the woods at the white oak, a funny little fellow, about six inches long and nearly as broad. It faced me and actually compelled me to retreat before it for five minutes. Perhaps I was between it and its hole. Its broad black tail, tipped with white, was erect like a kitten’s. It had what looked like a broad white band drawn tight across its forehand or top-head, from which two lines of white ran down, one on each side of its back, and there was a narrow white line down its snout. It raised its back, sometimes ran a few feet forward, sometimes backward, and repeatedly turned its tail to me, prepared to discharge its fluid, like the old ones. Such was its instinct, and all the while it kept up a fine grunting like a little pig or a red squirrel.—Henry Thoreau.

Few animals are so silent as the skunk. Zoological works contain no information as to its voice, and the essayists rarely mention it except by implication. Mr. Burroughs says: “The most silent creature known to me, he makes no sound, so far as I have observed, save a diffuse, impatient noise, like that produced by beating your hand with a whisk-broom, when the farm-dog has discovered his retreat in the stone fence.” Rowland Robinson tells us that: “The voiceless creature sometimes frightens the belated farm-boy, whom he curiously follows with a mysterious hollow beating of his feet upon the ground.” Thoreau, as has been mentioned, heard one keep up a “fine grunting, like a little pig or a squirrel;” but he seems to have misunderstood altogether a singular loud patting sound heard repeatedly on the frozen ground under the wall, which he also listened to, for he thought it “had to do with getting its food, patting the earth to get the insects or worms.” Probably he would have omitted this guess if he could have edited his diary instead of leaving that to be done after his death. The patting is evidently merely a nervous sign of impatience or apprehension, similar to the well-known stamping with the hind feet indulged in by rabbits, in this case probably a menace like a doubling of the fists, as the hind legs, with which they kick, are their only weapons. The skunk, then, is not voiceless, but its voice is weak and querulous, and it is rarely if ever heard except in the expression of anger. —Ernest Ingersol in “Wild Neighbors.”