Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

 motionless. He glides upon a log and scratches belly by gliding up and down. Another appears - evidently his mate. Still a third one comes. The last evidently unwelcome for he is pursued by first one. Harsh squeeling. They disappear.(HT)Cautiously I advance to where I heard them first. Come to bank & pause. Finally one appears and scratches belly as before Continues towards me & then sees me. A look half of curiosity + half of fear comes into his beady eyes  Glides into hole under roots. (HT)A moment - then he comes