At first light the other morning, I was awakened by a red fox lurking behind the spruce trees, then inching out into the clearing under a cedar canopy where it crouched.

Actually, I was brought out of a dead sleep by a polka-dotted pointer that spotted the fox out back, then let loose with a series of barks that could wake the very dead themselves.

It’s a wonder the fox didn’t vanish in the midst of such commotion from inside, where the dog lunged from the foot of the bed and hurled himself into the side of the deck door, scraping his toenails on the glass till my flesh crawled, my teeth gritted and my temper boiled.

In the silhouette, the creature looked at first like a raccoon, a familiar wanderer in our woods, especially when the suet dangles from the birch tree limb and feeders are full of sunflower seed and cracked corn.

In fact, it moved like a raccoon, bowed low to the snow-covered ground, lumbering along as it nibbled and taking no notice of the machinations going on inside the house where lights were flicking on and off and the dog – his owners making similar guttural sounds – was growling.

The morning was the color of tarnished silver, and I could barely make out the markings on the backyard intruder. Only when it turned away from the window did I see the white on its tail, then his pointed ears. This was no raccoon thief that would raid the garbage can and leave orange peel and coffee grounds strewn across the snow.

This was a beautiful, bushy fox with a penchant for leftover fruitcake I had discovered in the back of the refrigerator and crumbled up for the crows and blue jays, the red squirrels and titmice.

For 10 minutes, just as morning light shone clearer and the wind began to pick up from the northwest, the fox moseyed around and around, sniffing the stale cake and sticking its snout into the snow for more bites, while I watched from the kitchen window and handed treats to the erstwhile guard-dog, which had settled down at my feet.

Finally, all was quiet except for the popping of frozen trees bending in the blustery gusts that sprayed snow from one end of the dooryard to the other. The fox, having finished its breakfast, darted through the canopy and out the wooded path toward the road.

Its trail was obliterated by more blowing snow, and there was no sign of the fox, nor of the cake, by the time bright sunshine made the iced trees glisten and the blanket of snow sparkle like rhinestones.

The forests may appear dormant in February when deciduous trees are naked and there are no salamanders in the frozen ponds. On closer look, however, you’ll see signs of rabbit, bear, deer, coyote, woodpecker, owl, dove, blackbird and plenty of other wildlife in the woods and glens around here. That’s in the daytime.

The winter woodlands also have a thriving nightlife, as the dog aptly pointed out … and at.