Once there was a young wombat named Benson, who lived in a nice little hole in the ground with his mother, and his two aunts, Lillibet and Moss.
One morning Aunt Lillibet said, “Benson, I don’t like the look of your fingernails. I don’t think they’re up to any serious digging.”
Benson had spent the morning digging an extension for his bedroom to put his books and his microscope in. He didn’t say anything.
Aunt Lillibet said, “After breakfast we’ll go down to the garden shop and get you something you can dig with properly.”
After breakfast they went to the garden shop. Aunt Moss needed some flower seeds so she came too.
Aunt Lillibet found a very pretty trowel, with purple and pink flowers painted on it. “This is just the thing,” she said. Benson’s heart sank.
Aunt Moss said, “It is very nice, but do you think it will be big enough, Lillibet?”
“You may be right, Moss.” Aunt Lillibet picked up a handy little spade. “This is better.”
Aunt Moss said, “Yes, much better, but is it big enough for really serious digging?”
Aunt Lillibet picked up a shovel that was three times as big as she was. She could hardly lift it. “This is more like it!” she said.
Aunt Moss said, “Perfect. But if there are any rocks in the soil, will it be big enough?”
“Definitely not,” said Aunt Lillibet. “Come with me.” Outside there was a row of shiny new bobcats. Benson started to get excited. “Climb aboard, Benson,” she said.
Benson scrambled up into the driver’s seat. He pushed the levers and turned the wheel, and made digging noises.
“It’s lovely,” said Aunt Moss, “for the smaller rocks, of course. If you don’t want a really big hole.”
Aunt Lillibet wrinkled up her forehead. She called the salesman. “Do you have anything bigger than this?”
The salesman went away and came back driving a huge, shiny yellow excavator. It was a big as a house. Benson was so excited he was jumping up and down. He imagined scooping up giant rocks and buckets full of dirt.
Aunt Lillibet said to the salesman, “That’s more like it. How much is this one?”
The salesman showed her the price-tag. Aunt Lillibet went purple. She huffed, “Come along, Benson, come along, Moss. We’re going home. Those nails of your look perfectly all right to me.”
“I always say there’s nothing like a hole dug by hand,” said Aunt Moss. “Now, what about my flower seeds?”