The Muskrat

It sometimes looks as if the muskrat were weather-wise and could

forecast the coming season. I doubt if a long series of observations

would bear out the truth of this remark, yet I have noticed that in his

nest-building he sometimes hits the mark with surprising accuracy.



In the fall of 1878 I observed that he built unusually high and massive

nests. I noticed them in several different localities. In a shallow,
< r /> sluggish pond by the roadside, which I used to pass daily in my walk,

two nests were in process of construction throughout the month of

November. The builders worked only at night, and I could see each day

that the work had visibly advanced. When there was a slight skim of ice

over the pond, this was broken up about the nests, with trails through

it in different directions where the material had been brought. The

houses were placed a little to one side of the main channel, and were

constructed entirely of a species of coarse wild grass that grew all

about. So far as I could see, from first to last they were solid masses

of grass, as if the interior cavity or nest was to be excavated

afterward, as doubtless it was. As they emerged from the pond they

gradually assumed the shape of a miniature mountain, very bold and steep

on the south side, and running down a long gentle grade to the surface

of the water on the north. One could see that the little architect

hauled all his material up this easy slope, and thrust it out boldly

around the other side. Every mouthful was distinctly defined. After they

were two feet or more above the water, I expected each day to see that

the finishing stroke had been given and the work brought to a close. But

higher yet, said the builder.



December drew near, the cold became threatening, and I was apprehensive

that winter would suddenly shut down upon those unfinished nests. But

the wise muskrats seemed to know better than I did. Finally, about the

6th of December, the nests assumed completion; the northern incline was

absorbed or carried up, and each structure became a strong massive cone,

three or four feet high, the largest nest of the kind I had ever seen.

"Does it mean a severe winter?" I inquired. An old farmer said it meant

"high water," and he was right once, at least, for in a few days

afterward we had the heaviest rainfall known in this section for half a

century. The creeks rose to an almost unprecedented height. The sluggish

pond became a seething, turbulent watercourse; gradually the angry

element crept up the sides of these lake dwellings, till, when the rain

ceased, about four o'clock, they showed above the flood no larger than a

man's hat. During the night the channel shifted till the main current

swept over them, and next day not a vestige of the nests was to be seen;

they had gone downstream, as had many other dwellings of a less

temporary character. The rats had built wisely, and would have been

perfectly secure against any ordinary high water, but who can foresee a

flood? The oldest traditions of their race did not run back to the time

of such a visitation.



Nearly a week afterward another dwelling was begun, well away from the

treacherous channel, but the architects did not work at it with much

heart; the material was very scarce, the ice hindered, and before the

basement-story was fairly finished, winter had the pond under his lock

and key.



In other localities I noticed that where the nests were placed on the

banks of streams, they were made secure against the floods by being

built amid a small clump of bushes. When the fall of 1879 came, the

muskrats were very tardy about beginning their house, laying the

cornerstone--or the corner-sod--about December 1, and continuing the

work slowly and indifferently. On the 15th of the month the nest was not

yet finished. "Maybe," I said, "this indicates a mild winter;" and, sure

enough, the season was one of the mildest known for many years. The rats

had little use for their house.



Again, in the fall of 1880, while the weather-wise were wagging their

heads, some forecasting a mild, some a severe winter, I watched with

interest for a sign from my muskrats. About November 1, a month earlier

than the previous year, they began their nest, and worked at it with a

will. They appeared to have just got tidings of what was coming. If I

had taken the hint so palpably given, my celery would not have been

frozen up in the ground, and my apples caught in unprotected places.

When the cold wave struck us, about November 20, my four-legged "I

told-you-so's" had nearly completed their dwelling; it lacked only the

ridge-board, so to speak; it needed a little "topping out," to give it a

finished look. But this it never got. The winter had come to stay, and

it waxed more and more severe, till the unprecedented cold of the last

days of December must have astonished even the wise muskrats in their

snug retreat. I approached their nest at this time, a white mound upon

the white, deeply frozen surface of the pond, and wondered if there was

any life in that apparent sepulchre. I thrust my walking-stick sharply

into it, when there was a rustle and a splash into the water, as the

occupant made his escape. What a damp basement that house has, I

thought, and what a pity to rout a peaceful neighbor out of his bed in

this weather, and into such a state of things as this! But water does

not wet the muskrat; his fur is charmed, and not a drop penetrates it.



Where the ground is favorable, the muskrats do not build these

mound-like nests, but burrow into the bank a long distance, and

establish their winter quarters there.



The muskrat does not hibernate like some rodents, but is pretty active

all winter. In December I noticed in my walk where they had made

excursions of a few yards to an orchard for frozen apples. One day,

along a little stream, I saw a mink track amid those of the muskrat;

following it up, I presently came to blood and other marks of strife

upon the snow beside a stone wall. Looking in between the stones, I

found the carcass of the luckless rat, with its head and neck eaten

away. The mink had made a meal of him.