A Tale of Friendship

Hello,
Years ago, even before the Indian had set foot in America, there lived a colony of beavers on the banks of a tributary of the Mattawamkeag River in upper Maine. Semi-mountainous, it was a beautiful place with willow, elm and pine trees and plants such as fern and duckweed. The banks of the tributary were dotted with meadows of wild grass created by the beavers in the cutting of trees to build their dam.The beaver colony was neither large nor small, having three families and ten members, and like all beaver they worked very hard to dam the small river. Although the beavers took occasional breaks, usually for not more than half an hour, one beaver relished sitting at the water’s edge deep in thought. He worked harder and faster just so he could sit still longer. If they kept busy with the who and what of things, he found value in the if and why of things — for hours at a time.One day in early spring while he was sitting on the bank deep in thought about why trees should shed their leaves in winter, he was distracted by a loud “quack-wack-wack” and “rab-rab-rab”. He looked up to see four mallard ducks attacking a smaller one that limped, chasing her from the water onto the bank near him. She struggled to get a foothold, suffering numerous pecks, and he saw anguish in her eyes. It was too much for his sense of fairness. “Stop that,” he blurted out.The ducks ceased their pecking and fell back astonished. They were accustomed to being ignored by beavers so what was this? He glared at them but didn’t say anything more, so all but the small one that limped jumped back in the water. She caught her breath before quacking, “Why did you do that?”…..

Thank you

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