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“The first time you found one at the end of his tunnel you might wish differently,” she said. “Badgers fight hard, with tooth and claw, my dear.”

“Are they more savage than foxes?” I asked.

“Yes, but no braver. A fox has only his teeth to fight with but he makes good use of them.”

“I wouldn’t be afraid,” I boasted. “Are there any badgers or foxes about here?”

“Foxes, yes, but no badgers that I have ever heard of.”

“There are rabbits, though,” I said. “Some day I shall catch me a rabbit.”

“I hope not, my dear. Rabbits are harmless and they can’t fight underground. We have no quarrel with rabbits, we dachshunds.”

“Then,” I said, “I’ll have to find a fox.”

“It will be a good while before you are big enough to bring a fox out of his hole,” said Mother. “Some day, though, you shall try it, perhaps. You have good digging paws, Fritz.”

“They—they’re awfully big,” I said.

“As they should be, my dear. They’re made for digging. Each one is a little shovel, or, rather, a hoe. When you go into a hole that isn’t big enough you begin to dig. And that is why your front legs are made so crooked. If they were straight you would throw the dirt right under you. As they are, with your feet turning out, they throw the dirt on each side of you, out of your way.”