We remember John Holyoke. He likes to complain about beavers. Not kill them mind you. Or learn about them. Just complain about them.

Homeowner loses half-hearted battle with determined herd of beavers

Before we start, I want to assure you that despite what the headline says, I really have no idea whether one or a dozen beavers conspired to take its (their) toll on my home landscaping. And before we start, I want to assure you that I know that a group of beavers is actually called a “colony.” Fact is, I think “colony” is a pretty weak label for such a destructive (or determined) group (if there was an actual group) of animals.

And since I’m a writer, and this is my column, I get to call this particular wild pack of marauding buck-toothed pests whatever I want. Today, since I’m not allowed to use nouns that many readers consider “naughty words,” I’m calling them a herd. Period. Sue me.

A herd? A herd of beavers? You know  I listen to a lot of complaints about beavers. I mean a LOT, And I gotta admit that’s an actual first. It conjures images of stampeding buffalo or elephants laying waste to everything in their path. Nice imagery.

I’d like to say I was angry. Instead, I suppose I’d come to the realization that the tree — already half-gnawed, if you recall — was short for this world. And this time, I reasoned, I’d surely have photographic proof to share with all of you. This could not be the work of one beaver, I thought. No way. There was likely a sizable herd at work here. Some were gnawers. Some were lookouts (like the squirrel). Others were supervisors, who leaned on neighboring trees, telling the others how fast to gnaw, and which way to look out.

Hats off sir. Slow clap and much respect. I’ve read Pliny saying there were ‘slave beavers’ and ‘master beavers’ and I even heard trappers say they were only going to kill the ‘soldier’ beavers. But supervisor beavers leaning on trees is perfect. Nicely done. In no way accurate, But nicely done,

Many suggested that I try to trap the beaver, and many others thought that was a great suggestion. After all, they probably reasoned: I’m an outdoorsman. I used to be the outdoors editor of this here newspaper. Surely I must be adept at pursuing and trapping animals. Right?

No, no traps were deployed. Partly because I’m not a trapper, and am not licensed to trap and kill beavers. Partly because I didn’t want to have to figure out what to do with any dumb beaver that would have wandered into a live trap that I set.  And mostly because I figured that despite my frustration with the sharp-toothed vermin, I really had nothing against the beaver. Or herd. Or whatever.

I think we all know someone like John. That woman at the bar that loves to complain about how rotten her husband is and how she’s going to do better any day now and for the first two or three times we believe her. He’s a dog. And he doesn’t deserve her. We expect her to move out tomorrow and maybe even help her look for an apartment. But eventually we begin to understand. She’s never leaving. Not because she loves him. But because she loves the way people listen too her when she complains about him.

I’d write John helpful advice about how to protect trees and extoll the wildlife beavers will bring his way inspiring new columns. I’d even introduce him to someone that can teach him how to properly set up the wildlife camera so he could finally see the herd in action. 

But we’re onto him now.