“A badger,” said Mother, “is a very savage animal, much larger than your father. He lives underground and comes out at night to hunt. He has short legs and very long claws and a long nose. He catches smaller animals and eats them and sometimes he steals the farmer’s chickens. He has a very loose skin, just like yours, that is covered with fine grey hairs. Folks make brushes out of the hairs. The brush the Master lathers his face with in the morning when he shaves is made of badger hair and the brush that William used the other day to paint the old wagon with is made of it too.”
“I wish I could catch a badger,” I said. Mother smiled.
“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.”