In Beaver World

by Enos A. Mills

At this, Diver came forth from behind my coat to see what was going on. The old one started forward to meet him, but on having a good look at me whirled and made a jumping dive into the water, whacking the surface with his tail as he disappeared. Instantly there followed two or more splashes and a number of tail-whacks upon the water, as though a beaver rescue party were beating a retreat.

At the end of my outing Diver became the pet of two pioneer children on the bank of the Snake River. He followed the children about and romped with them. At three years of age he was shot by a visiting hunter.

My experience with Diver and other beaver pets leads me to believe that beaver are easily domesticated. One morning in northern Idaho, the family with whom I had spent the night took me out to see a beaver colony that was within a stone’s throw of their fireplace. Three beaver came out of the water within ten feet of us to eat scraps of bread which the children threw on the grass for them.

One day I placed myself between three young beaver, who were eating on land, and the river out of which they came. They were on one of the rocky borders of the Colorado River in the depths of the upper Grand Cañon. They attempted to get by me, but their efforts were not of the “do or die” nature. Presently their mother came to the rescue and attempted to attract my attention by floating in the water near me in a terribly crippled condition. I had seen many birds and a few beaver try that clever ruse; so I allowed it to go on, hoping to see another act. Another followed.

In it an old male beaver appeared. He swam easily downstream until within a few yards of me and then dived, apparently frightened. But presently he reappeared near by and dived again. While I was watching him, the youngsters edged a few yards nearer the river. To stop them and prolong the exhibition, I advanced close to them as though to grab them. At this the mother beaver struggled out of the water and set up a tumbling and rolling so close to me that I thought to catch her for examination. She dodged right and left and reached the water. While this was going on, the youngsters escaped into the river. Mother beaver instantly recovered, and as she dived gave the water a scornful whack with her tail.

The beaver is not often heard. He works in silence. When he pauses from his work, he sits meditatively, like a philosopher. At times, however, when, in traveling, beaver are separated from one another, they give a strange shrill whistle or call. Occasionally this whistle appears to be a call of alarm, suspicion, or warning. Sometimes when alarmed, a young beaver gives a shrill and frightened cry not unlike that of a lost human child. On a few occasions I have heard, while listening near a beaver house in the early summer, something of a subdued concert going on inside, a purring, rhythmic melody. They have a kind of love ditty also. This is a rhythmic murmur and sigh, very appealing, and it seems strangely elemental as it floats across the beaver pond in the twilight.

It is probable that beaver mate for life. All that is known concerning their ways indicates that they are good parents. The young are usually born during the month of April. The number varies from one to eight; probably four is the number most common. A short time before the birth of the youngsters, the mother invites the father to leave, or compels him to do so,—or he may go voluntarily,—and she has possession of the house or burrow, probably alone, at the time the youngsters are born. Their eyes are open from the beginning, and in less than two weeks they appear in the water accompanied by the mother. Often I have investigated beaver colonies endeavoring to determine the number of youngsters at a birth. Many times there were four of these furry, serious little fellows near the house on a log that was thrust up through the water. At other times from one to eight youngsters sunned themselves on the top of the rude home.

One May, in examining beaver colonies, I saw three sets of youngsters in the Moraine Colony. They numbered three, and two, and five. One mother in another colony proudly exhibited eight, while still another, who had been harassed all winter by trappers and who lived in a burrow in the bank, could display but one.

It is not uncommon for young orphan beavers to be cared for and adopted by another mother beaver. I have notes of three mothers who, with children of their own, at once took charge of orphans left by the death of a neighbor. One June a mother beaver was killed near my camp. Her children escaped. The following evening a new mother, with four children of her own adopted them and moved from her own home, a quarter of a mile distant, to the home of her dead neighbor and there brought all the youngsters up.