Sound asleep in the cabin, 4am, 4 miles in off the black top. 1.3 miles past the gravel town road. Wake up to "crunch, crunch, crunch." All sleepy eyed and groggy. -25 degrees out. Fisher Grandpa III wood stove nicely full of coals. Roll out of the rack always sleep au naturale. Finally decide that what I'm hearing is chewing. Gotta be a porky. Now I leave most every thing alone unless it trespasses on the curtilage, but this sounded like it was chewing on my hand hewn beam door frame. Grabbed the Iver Johnson pine squirrel, get outa my bird feeder .410, slipped on a pair of Tingley rubber boots, opened the door and darned near stepped right on the porky. He turned his head, looked up, and probably thought "aw chit", I had to wait for him to waddle off the porch so's as to not mess up the planking.