sometime this last week the grass around the garden decided to give in to the heat, and died. I went out this morning for something, and the ground in one particular section was ruffled up enough to suggest small rototillers had been at work. Aha. Skunk Season. They are fussy eaters, and won't scrabble through tall grass to get at the yummy fat beetle grubs they so love--but mow the grass or have it die off, and there they are, digging up a storm.
Bless their smelly little hearts.