3:5

Baking was not one of the things that interested the beaver. In actuality, baking was one of the things the beaver could very well do without. He didn’t like the smell, he didn’t like the traces of fine flour particles floating through the air he had to breathe, and he especially didn’t like the experience of trying to eat the doughy softness that was fresh bread. A nice crusty roll was a step in the right direction, but unless it was weeks old, it retained that mushiness that made bread and other pastries nothing, in the long run, but a waste of time and effort.

So on those days when the beaver could smell the scent of fresh baking wafting from Meredith’s kitchen, he tended to investigate the dugout or wander over to the irrigation ditch out behind the pasture to see whether the reeds and bulrushes were particularly tasty. And on this day, the beaver caught that peculiar smell of yeast as soon as he approached the veranda and quickly took a left turn toward the barn. There had been some kittens born to one of the wilder cats up in the loft some time during the past week, and the beaver decided it was time for a proper inspection.

And, on this particular day, the smell of baking would serve to remind him of his task. It was likely a sign that his time here was drawing to an end. The beaver had quite enjoyed the spring and had filled out a lot. But he had things to do accomplish before fall and couldn’t move on to those until things were settled here. The fact that Meredith was baking this early in the day was a clear indicator that she was ready, and delaying things wouldn’t help anyone.

But for now, the kittens awaited inspection, and the beaver ambled over to the haystack to scramble up the the stair-like tiers to the open loft doors of the old barn. He had tried, and succeeded, using the ladder, but it had taken a lot of effort and left him looking slightly ridiculous. Never mind that the chief witness had been the cat whose litter he was off to visit. It was enough to know that he had been seen and he much preferred to find a different way up. The convenient stack offered such a path. Of course he had unmatched the loft doors after that first struggle up, and Meredith would surely not thank him the next time the winds came blasting across the prairie, but such is the price of a beaver’s dignity.

Backlit in the open loft doorway, the beaver cast an immense shadow across the loosely strewn straw and hay in the loft. And if the kittens had been able to open their eyes or cared to look, surely they would have been struck by the weight of that shadow and the ominous aura that manifested itself in that simple absence of light.