Brave Beaver

I think beavers get kind of a bad rap as interesting animals.  Maybe not  a bad rap , but just not very interesting.  I have to admit I wasn't enthralled with beavers either, until we moved to a place on the water where I am lucky enough to see them fairly often.  It's usually at the end of the day, or early in the morning, when the water is completely still except for the perfect arrow created by a beaver swimming slowly up- or down stream.  Nose, eyes and little rounded ears are all that's above water.  Silently they make their way through silver water on their various missions and chores.

I got to know one beaver very well, and she made me realize how much I had underestimated them. As a volunteer at the Wildlife Center, I had the privilege to care for an injured beaver.  As a nurse, I usually feel that it's a privilege to provide care for the sick and injured.  Usually. Most times.  But with this beaver, there was no doubt. 

Her story was that she was found in a parking lot in a nearby seaside town, not far from the small river that meanders through town.  She was so weak she couldn't escape from her rescuers.  Any time a wild animal cannot escape, you know they're very ill.   She had four deep linear gouges that ran from her shoulders to her mid-back.   By the time she was found and brought to the Center, she was very sick.  Her wounds were so infected that her entire upper back was swollen and tight.  The volunteers made her a bed of folded blankets in a small room where she could have quiet and relative darkness.  She lay on one side, carefully, with her front paws tucked under her chin.  She kept her eyes shut tight.  Who could blame her?  First major injury and pain, now this strange noisy place with smells that were beyond anything in her experience.
I met her on her first day  in the Center.  She was dehydrated, and we assumed, malnourished, although with her gorgeous thick beaver pelt, it was hard to tell.  Her fur was long and smooth and chocolate brown.  Lovely.  She had longish, leathery feet and of course, that tail.  Its texture is hard to describe.  Sort of like thick leather, a little like the skin of a big fish.   A beaver tail.  And she was big.   Maybe three  feet long, not counting her tail.

When another volunteer and I entered the room, she tensed up and  squinched open her eyes.  We guessed that she was in such pain that she really didn't want to move at all.  Talking softly and moving slowly, we approached her and gently reached out to her.  It was important to examine her wounds and care for them.
Her blankets were soiled, as she had no way to urinate or defecate other than right where she was.

In nursing school, we learned to make an 'occupied' bed.  That means that if the patient is too ill or weak to get out of bed, the nurses can make the bed with the patient in it.   It's not as hard it as might sound.  I suggested that we try it with the beaver, since she looked really heavy and we didn't want to cause her any more pain than necessary.   We got more thick blankets and rolled them lengthwise along her body, after pulling the soiled portion of the blanket over her on that side.  Cheryl, on the other side, then gently used those blankets to pull the beaver more onto her side.  I then slid the clean linen under her.  This left a lump to roll back over.  So very gently, we began to roll her over the lump to her other side, onto the clean blankets.  I'd never heard a beaver vocalize, so we jumped when she gave a little squeaking moan of pain.  We spoke to her softly and continued to gently pull out the soiled linen.  Viola.  Beaver on clean blankets.  She was panting with the pain and effort.  Her wounds were oozing a bit.  But her eyes were bright.

During this entire frightening and painful process, the beaver was never aggressive.  Aggression is a protective mechanism with many animals; perfectly understandable.   Something is causing pain, you bite or lash out at it to protect yourself.  If you work with wildlife, it's critical to understand this and be prepared.  This beaver had front teeth that were a good inch long, and her claws were close to an inch long, too.  She could do some damage. We were cautious and ready, but  I don't think it's in a beaver's nature to be aggressive.  I don't know.  I need to read up on that.   All I can say is that this girl let us do what we needed to do, telling us with her squeaky moan when it was getting to be too much.

After changing her bedding, we decided to let her rest for an hour before we did more. Over-stressing wild creatures can make them much sicker, even cause some to die.  So we turned off the lights, pulled the door almost closed and opened the windows so she could hear the sound of the wind in the trees.

Tune in for chapter two of beaver care soon.