26

One of the first things the beaver encountered after Meredith showed him his new home was a tattered spiral-bound Hilroy notebook with page after page of neatly printed notes. It had been crammed under an old saddle propped up in the corner that the beaver was intending on using as a perch to see out the round window that provided a stream of sunlight into his cozy loft.

The notebook was blue, and the notes within were consistently inscribed in a particular loopy print and written in ink that was always a particular green as if the writer put a weird sort of pride in consistency and precision. The notebook was about three-quarters full, and each entry seemed to end precisely at the bottom of the page. At the top of each page was a date written out in an old fashioned style: Monday, March the second, nineteen hundred and eighty-five. The bottom of each page was signed simply Barnabas in an elegant hand that was completely in keeping with the rest of the page. It all looked so out of place in the tatty Hilroy.

The beaver put the notebook aside as he surveyed the rest of the loft. There was a warm light from the window, but still some dark cozy corners at the far end where one could curl up for an afternoon nap. The furnishings were sparse but the beaver didn’t need much and was still too young to have acquired the habits of a luxurious lifestyle. One wall, only about three feet high due to the slope of the roof, was crammed with old cardboard boxes and wooden crates while the opposite wall was stacked with old tack, saddle blankets and something that looked suspiciously like bits of an airplane. The floor was clear of clutter except for an old shipping crate and a lamp made from a leather cowboy boot.

“Except for a cold pond, this looks like everything one could need,” the young beaver exclaimed.

“Like it?” Meredith enquired from the base of the stairs. “If you get worried about the dogs, you can always pull up the stairs, and I’ve got a rain barrel and a trough just outside for baths.” Meredith didn’t keep any dogs, but she liked them well enough so never bothered to keep them out either when they came visiting from the neighbouring farms.

“Well, I have to check in at the house and see if there are any messages. Come up to the house after you get settled and we’ll find something to eat.” With that she closed the sliding door of the shop and crossed the yard to the house.

The beaver watched from the window as she disappeared inside and then turned to the room again and started building a cozy nest of blankets. He placed the notebook on the crate for later consumption. Somehow he had a feeling there was something there to be learned.

Fifteen minutes later he trundled down the steep steps and poked his head out the dog door built into the wooden shop door. There didn’t seem to be anything about that would threaten a young, healthy beaver so out he went and headed for the house. It had been a long exciting day and he was hungry. Meredith would take care of that, he was sure, and then it would be time for a well-deserved rest.