B is for Beavers
 GIVE ME YOUR ROD! | Get your mind out of the gutter, folks. It ain’t that kind of beaver. This is a story about a man, a dog, a porch and a furry little beaver. Or groundhog we still aren’t certain exactly which it was. For the sake of this blog, and this letter, I am sticking with beaver. |
I should preface this by explaining that I work night shifts. I have to sleep during the day or I can’t stay up all night. Makes sense, right? It does yet some folks don’t seem to understand this. They call you at all hours and ask you why you’re still asleep at noon and complain because you won’t … sorry. Got off track. This isn’t about working the graveyard shift. I’ll start again.
I should preface this by saying I work nights, and as a result I sleep during the day. Usually about 10am to 6pm or so. This works out well during the week while the husband is at work, but on the weekends and holidays not so much. He isn’t loud. No. After eighteen years of living with a night worker, he is used to it. Tony is very quiet when I am asleep during the day. So imagine my surprise when I woke to a dog barking wildly.
I should preface this by saying I work nights, and as a result I sleep during the day. Usually about 10am to 6pm or so. This works out well during the week while the husband is at work, but on the weekends and holidays not so much. He isn’t loud. No. After eighteen years of living with a night worker, he is used to it. Tony is very quiet when I am asleep during the day. So imagine my surprise when I woke to a dog barking wildly.
| Anyone who knows us knows we keep cats, not dogs. When it comes to dogs we will rescue them and find them homes. We don’t keep them. At the time of this tale, we had taken in a Siberian Husky we called Dora. She was sweet, but she wasn’t a cat. Eventually we gave her to a nice yuppie couple who asked us where we had her groomed. After Tony and I giggled at this question, they left in a hurry, whisking Dora off to a surely better life than the non-groomer one we had supplied for her. |  Not Dora, but pretty darned close. |
Back to our story.
I woke to Dora barking furiously. I waited for Tony, who was home due to some banker’s holiday, to silence her. After almost a full minute or two of this constant yipping, I rolled out of bed to see what in the hell was wrong. I found her and Tony at the closed living room door, staring out the little window.
“What is the fuss?” I grumbled.
Tony turned to me with wide eyes and whispered, “Beaver.”
He always whispers when referencing wild animals in the house or yard. (Yes, in the house. That’s another story or two.
“There’s a beaver on the porch,” he whispered. “I tried to get rid of it but it growled at me. I think it’s mean.”
I woke to Dora barking furiously. I waited for Tony, who was home due to some banker’s holiday, to silence her. After almost a full minute or two of this constant yipping, I rolled out of bed to see what in the hell was wrong. I found her and Tony at the closed living room door, staring out the little window.
“What is the fuss?” I grumbled.
Tony turned to me with wide eyes and whispered, “Beaver.”
He always whispers when referencing wild animals in the house or yard. (Yes, in the house. That’s another story or two.
“There’s a beaver on the porch,” he whispered. “I tried to get rid of it but it growled at me. I think it’s mean.”
It looked more like this, a groundhog. Though it is often called a land-beaver.
Tony and Dora stepped away from the door and I stepped up to peer out of the window. Sure enough, sitting on the porch was a little beaver. Again, could’ve been a groundhog. I was half asleep, how could I know? The one thing I do remember clearly is that the beaver was holding a long thin wooden rod. It chewed on the rod and glared up at me with a gleam in its evil eyes. I stared at the rod for a moment, then turned to look at Tony.
“Why is it holding a curtain rod?” I said.
Serious as death, Tony furrowed his brow and said, “How do you think I tried to get rid of it?”
He explained that he grabbed the curtain rod—a leftover bit of DYI decorating—and prodded the beaver, trying to coax it off of the porch. The beaver wasn’t amused. It grabbed the curtain rod, yanked it out of Tony hands and proceeded to chew on it as if to defy him. Tony dashed back into the house and hid behind the door.
Let me say that again so you can absorb it. He lost a wrestling match with a beaver, and ran to hide in the house.
“Why is it holding a curtain rod?” I said.
Serious as death, Tony furrowed his brow and said, “How do you think I tried to get rid of it?”
He explained that he grabbed the curtain rod—a leftover bit of DYI decorating—and prodded the beaver, trying to coax it off of the porch. The beaver wasn’t amused. It grabbed the curtain rod, yanked it out of Tony hands and proceeded to chew on it as if to defy him. Tony dashed back into the house and hid behind the door.
Let me say that again so you can absorb it. He lost a wrestling match with a beaver, and ran to hide in the house.
 This is the man I chose to spend my life with. The beaver armer. | “After all,” he said, “a beaver with a curtain rod is far more dangerous than a beaver without a curtain rod. I armed him. It’s my fault.” I blinked a few times, spun slowly on my heel and returned to bed. I had to go to work. This was obviously a dream. Though I knew the truth was I married a crazy man, and I was very tired. Before I went back to bed I said, “It will eventually leave on its own.” That night when I got back up, he told me the rest of the story which included calling various not very helpful government agencies. Eventually the beaver just left on its own. Just like I said it would. |
The moral of this story is never push your rod into the hands on a strange beaver. You never know what it’s going to do.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Happy Valentine's Day.
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