A red-cheeked Eddie and Mr Beetle look back and laugh: what wonderful footprints they’ve left behind them in the fresh snow! Eddie’s prints are much deeper and further apart than Mr Beetles who, with his small steps and his walking cane, makes much steadier, even tracks in the cold, white snow. “Look over there!” Mr Beetle exclaims. “Who has made these prints?” he asks, his breath spiralling upwards in a thick steam. Eddie examines the row of deep tracks in front of them, as if they were held there on an invisible band, running a long, long trail through the snow. And at the very end of the tracks, they see the “person” who made them: the clever vixen, who is often around here in the summer too. 

When she spots Eddie and Mr Beetle, she dashes over. “Have you seen my little cub?” she asks. “I’ve been looking for him all day!” For a moment, they all looked at each other wordlessly, unsure of what to do. But just for a moment, as clever Mr Beetle always comes up with good ideas quickly. And this time was no different. “Well, we’ll just have to look for his footprints. I imagine they look something like yours, but just a few sizes smaller, right?” The worried vixen nodded. But she understood, and the three of them set off together through the snow. When they came to the very edge of the forest, Eddie spotted the tracks of the brown hare and the prints of the cheerful sparrow family beside them. And then his eyes fell upon…some prints that were exactly like the vixen’s, but just a few sizes smaller. “Over here!” he called, out of breath. Mr Beetle and the vixen turned around instantly, and sped over to Eddie in a flash. There was no doubt that they were the fox cub’s footprints, and now all they needed to do was follow them. The direction seemed to be clear.

The trackers set off through the forest, and before long they heard the happy chirping of the sparrows and a bright, cheerful bark of a fox. They were telling a rhyme, and sounded like they were having fun. Yes, they were definitely playing. And then they saw them: the little fox cub was crouching beneath a large fir tree, the sparrows were sitting in the branches, and they were all having a wonderful time. Losing track of time is something we all understand, but nevertheless, on that day there was a gentle scolding in the tender nuzzles that the clever vixen gave her baby cub.