There are Beavers on the River Otter. I park in Otterton (yes, really) and we have a pint in The King’s Arms while we wait for it to get darker. It was probably a pint from Otter Breweries. I should have paid more attention.
We walk down the river and there are crowds of eager Beaver spotters at their favourite places. Recording video with sound is going to be tricky with so many people having noisy cameras (mine is the noisiest) and people’s enthusiastic cries of “Beaver!” scaring the Beavers, so no-one else can see them.
And there it is, a wild Beaver:
It’s the terroriser of landowners and the frightener of farmers. A peaceful, portly vegetable eater living a soggy life in a stream. Quite how it can be so difficult to reintroduce them back to the countryside just shows the stranglehold that the wealthy have over our wildlife.
They really do have hand-like paws:
I particularly like the side-eye it’s giving.
Then it raises itself up to have a look at the crowds on the other bank:
Isn’t it just adorable?