Redhawk Caldera Mama said knock you out

Fox's sage advice was heard, but more than likely would go out the other ear. It wasn't that Nightjar didn't think she knew better than him—she absolutely did—but that he would always be more of a bull-rush kind of wolf. He would likely try her tactic only to forget its potential effectiveness later. He was forgetful and not exactly the think-before-you-act sort.

"But then it'd bite my butt!" he protested, misunderstanding what Fox really meant by keeping away from the head. His world existed in polar opposites. If not the head, he would have to go for the rear, and that would leave his sides and behind open to attack. Logic would've told him that this was still better than taking injuries up front but instinct told him to never turn his back, and he had far more of that than of logic.

He giggled when she lapped the blood off his face. It stung, but it wasn't anything unbearable. His tail whapped his sides as he turned to her, assured the goose was too distant to do anything to his butt, and said, "what if it was a wolf and not a honker?"