a badger, sometimes..

 

«It was a cold still afternoon with a hard steely sky

overhead, when he slipped out of the warm parlour

into the open air. The country lay bare and entirely 

leafless around him, and he thought that he had never

seen so far and so intimately into the insides of things

as on that winter day when Nature was deep in her

annual slumber and seemed to have kicked the clothes

off.[...] He was glad that he liked the country

undecorated, hard, and stripped of its finery. He had

got down to the bare bones of it, and they were fine 

and strong and simple.» —The Wind in the Willows,

Kennet Grahame