No beaver in the house

Beavers are very expert at building their own houses. Thoughtfully arranged inside — a dry platform, a pond with at least two tunnels leading to the outside, a small air-conditioning hole in the ceiling — all warm and waterproof and strong enough to resist marauding bears and wolves.

The skill to build is inherent. I watched the beautiful lodge, which I can see from the front door of my house, being built and I knew the beavers that were building it. Each one I had known as an orphaned kit, bottle fed them, raised them and finally given them freedom. I had certainly not taught them how to build a lodge.

The only time I did that, the beaver totally rejected my attempt and built a much better one of his own. These beavers built their own home and totally ignored me. They still do.

However, over the last 40 years I have had beavers live in the house with me. Beavers are very family oriented and do not thrive well if left completely alone, especially tiny babies. So, over the years, my dogs have become very accustomed to seeing a young beaver brought into the house and given an enclosure.

They simply shrug their shoulders and ignore it, until it is large enough to roam the house a little. Then they permit it to cuddle up to them if it wants warmth, to climb over them if they happen to be sleeping in its pathway, and likely to give thanks when it is finally old enough to be taken to a pond of its own.

Imprinting? Not a problem. A beaver can tell the difference between a beaver and a dog and doesn’t trust any of them except, for a limited time, the one that was his friend. I have watched this over many years too.

But this year I have no beavers in my house. There are three little fellows down at the sanctuary, safe and warm for the winter in ponds in the nursery, but not here. Nothing under the chesterfield. Nothing nibbling at the table legs. Nothing putting big paw prints on the glass of the doorways. No reason to fill the bathtub with water twice a day and let the beavers swim (and defecate, beavers do that in water). My bill for bathtub cleanser will go way down.

And the books on the lower shelves of the library will be safe. I will be able to leave murder mysteries or theological tomes scattered beside my armchair and expect they will rest unharmed until I feel a renewed interest in at least the mysteries.

I won’t feel a small, tentative paw on my knee and know that one small beaver is lonely and wants up to be loved awhile, and have his little ears rubbed, and to talk awhile. Beavers do talk, very earnestly. They talk, they listen, and then they reply. It doesn’t really matter that neither of us speaks the language of the other. We know that we understand one another and that’s all that matters.

Whatever caused the three little ones down at the sanctuary this year to be orphaned no one knows. It seems to have been something so horrible that they cannot for one moment forgive a human, and we are not about to insist. They will have the same love and care. At the time they would leave their parents in the wild, they will be given their freedom. They will live their own lives, free and capable.

But my winter will be just a bit empty.

Summer visiting hours at the Aspen Valley Wildlife Sanctuary, near Rousseau, are Wednesday afternoon and Sunday afternoon from 1-4 p.m. For more information call 705-732-6368.