YOUNG ANIMALS AT THE ZOO 
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of the young one’s ears, while the tip of its tail also 
hangs out just under its chin. In a cage in the small 
mammals’ house there were a number of young weasels, 
which were, without exception, the brightest and most 
active creatures in the Gardens. They were absolutely 
without fear of man, — bold, impudent, and astonish- 
ingly agile. They had converted the hay at the 
bottom of their cage into the likeness of a hedge- 
bottom, with numerous tunnels, galleries, and holes, 
and in these they would play by the hour. It was 
always the same game, catching and killing, and the 
fury with which they would roll over and over until 
one had the other by the throat, and pretended to kill 
it, was most excellent counterfeit. The difficulty was 
to tell the number of the weasels. There were only 
four, but there seemed to be as many more. They 
were here, there, and everywhere, and scarcely had the 
tail of one disappeared at one hole, than its sharp, 
bright eyes were peering from another at the opposite 
side of the cage. They could run either backwards or 
forwards in the holes, and no mouse, rat, or rabbit 
would stand a chance against these untiring and agile 
little enemies. 
It is difficult to say why there are no young 
wolves at the Zoo. According to Tschudi, the 
naturalist of the Alps, they are pretty little creatures, 
born blind, covered with reddish-white down, and 
sprawl in a heap like puppies. The little dingoes, of 
which a litter were born early in the year 1893, much 
resemble this description, and, like the wolf cubs, are 
