It came and it went. The floodwater, I mean, and it left even faster than it arrived, flushing out the newly built beaver dams at either end of a 200’ long culvert,
but by then, much damage had been done.

What happened is, this beaver colony moved to a section of land
sandwiched between the older houses of the county and
the newly constructed ones on the edge of town.

And though I had hoped the flood would not happen,
I knew that it possibly could, and to save me trouble later,
since neither the city nor county would, I had been liquidating for two whole months.
 
I bought heavy-duty plastic shelves for setting the things higher;
also two dozen big tubs and packed heavier things on the bottom,
in hopes these would stay upright and float. (They did.)

But as far as I know, nothing yet has been done about the problem,
though many houses were flooded,
and my son complained loudly to whomever.

Meanwhile, my big, thick, beautiful rug had to lay on a stone patio to drain,
because three grown men couldn’t drag it away any further.
Later, I moved it by wagon then, by God’s grace, coaxed it onto the trampoline,
where it got three days of drenching rain, then three days of a blistering sun.

Now it’s dry, rolled up and tied, and is, finally, back inside, waiting to find a new home, because I think those flushed-out beavers will remember
where it was they were having fun before they were washed away,
and will be back.

I hate to joke, but I might as well.
If this beaver colony grows any faster,
might they be offered their own zip code some day?