"Timber!" cried the young beaver, as he finished chewing through the "trunk" of his target."
"Good one, Junior," his father commended him. "I'm not sure you really need to call 'timber,' when your victim is only four feet tall and the 'trunk' only a couple inches across."
"You told me you can never be too careful," Junior replied. "Besides, when humans hit that little tiny white ball around, they always yell 'fore,' if they think it might hit someone. That can't be very dangerous."
"Well, that little tiny ball is as hard as a rock. If it hit someone, it could do some real damage. Your tree probably wouldn't, under any circumstances.
"Speaking of little tiny balls, were you over at the golf course? That's quite a trip."
"Actually, Dad, I was watching it on television."
"Peeking in windows, again? Your mother doesn't like you doing that. Well, neither do I."
"I don't do it very often, but it's always interesting. Actually, this last time I heard something I wish I hadn't. It confused me, but it also made me feel a little sad - and a little guilty, too. I was thinking about it, just now."
Dad stopped his gnawing for a moment. "What did you hear that made you feel guilty?"
"They said that a lot of beavers have moved into northern Canada and Alaska, and our dam building has caused the ice to melt, which releases menthol into the air, which causes the global warming that will eventually kill us all - humans and beavers, alike."
Dad pondered for a bit before he responded. "The basic story - about beavers moving north - is true, and what you heard about what's happened as a result is partially true. However, a lot has been left unsaid, or distorted. Here's what has really gone on.
"Twenty years ago, very few of our beaver relatives lived in that area. The winters were very long and very cold, and there was almost no open water where we could live. Also, there were no trees, and not even very much taller, woodier brush. That meant there was nothing to use to build our dams and lodges. You know we don't actually eat wood, but we eat the soft bark off trees and shrubs, and of course need other greens for our main food. There wasn't much.
"All that has been changing, because climate change with global warming has been affecting the region for a long time, and is the only reason that we're able to be there, now. Winters are much less severe than they once were, there's more open water in the winter, and the permafrost - the ground that has been frozen solid for thousands of years - has begun to melt. This last is very important to our species because the warming and melting is allowing woody vegetation - not many trees yet, but lots of bushes - to grow where there weren't any, before. This shrubbery isn't as good building material for our dams and lodges as real trees, but it works.
"So, Junior, beavers moving north isn't causing global warming. The global warming that was already occurring was making it possible to expand into new territory. Global warming is likely to continue, and there'll come a time when we'll suffer from it, rather than profiting by it. But whatever has happened, or will happen, no beaver has to feel guilty about it."
"What about the menthol, Dad? Isn't that important?"
"It is important. I'm glad you reminded me. I mentioned the permafrost - permanently frozen ground in the Arctic. It's been frozen for thousands and thousands of years, and trapped in the ice is all the residue of all the carbon Humans have ever burned - coal, oil, gas. As long as it's frozen in the ground, it isn't much of a problem. However, with the warmer Arctic temperatures, the once permanently frozen ground is no longer as frozen, and all that trapped stuff can escape into the air. All those particles in the air heats the air even more, and more permafrost melts. One of the bad elements released is methane - not menthol, which you thought was said. More methane escaping into the air means more heating, which means more melting, which means more heat... Well, you get the idea. It all just keeps cycling around from bad to worse to even worse. But I repeat - we beavers didn't make this happen. We've just taken temporary advantage of it."
Dad Beaver had another thought. "Actually, to be completely honest about it, I guess beavers are at least a little bit responsible, now. When we build our dams, we create ponds. The water in the ponds is still plenty cold, but exposed to the air like it is, it does become warmer than the rest of the water around. This relative warmness over the permafrost continues to melt it, so more methane and other stuff escapes.
"Even so, beavers account for very little of the total problem. We are just being scape-goated."
"What's scape-goating, Dad?"
"Well, it means that you blame somebody else for your problems, rather than taking responsibility. The one you blame becomes the scapegoat."
"So, a beaver turns into a goat?"
Dad laughed. "No, the beaver - the scape-beaver - remains a beaver. The goat only get involved because of some old Human fable, or fairy tale. In it, a Man wants to get rid of all the bad things going on in his town, so he gathers them all up, puts them on a goat, and sends the goat into the wilderness. No more goat, no more problems."
Junior just stared at him. "Dad, you can't put a problem on a goat!"
Dad laughed, again. "No, I know that. Remember, it's just a story - a made-up way to explain something that's hard to explain. I think it was originally religious."
"What's 'religious?'"
"Well, I'm not quite sure. Humans have some kind of 'thing' or 'person' - maybe like a giant Human, that kind of watches out for them."
"I don't get it."
"No, I don't, either. Let me try a little different approach. Suppose we - all of us beavers - had a giant beaver as kind of our king. I don't mean 'giant' like I’m bigger than you, or a six-foot tall beaver would be much bigger than me. I mean, one so big that it kind of covers the whole earth. You can't actually make out any part of him - everything is on such a large scale - but we know he's up there. Well, he sort of sets the rules for Beaver-hood - tells us what we can do, and can't do. However, if we mess up, and do something wrong, he just says 'that's okay, better luck next time, I'll just take care of your boo-boo for you. There, all is forgotten and forgiven.' All of us beavers just go on as we have, until the next time we screw up."
"I don't get it."
"Neither do I. I don't know how we got off on this subject, anyway. Humans have changed the meaning of 'scapegoat' quite a bit. The goat didn't have anything to say about his burden, one way or the other. He just got his load of troubles, and took them away. Now, the giant scape-beaver gladly accepted all the human problems, and took care of them. But Humans seem especially mistake-prone, and don't like to accept any of the blame for mistakes. Therefore, they just accuse somebody else, or something else, and say 'it's their fault, not mine.' That's why I say that beavers in Alaska are global warming scapegoats. We didn't cause it, but Humans are trying to put the blame on us.
"It's not the first time they've tried it, either. Last time, it was cow farts."
"Dad!"
"Wait, son, I'm serious. Well, as serious as a father can be who's talking about cow farts with his young son. I'll try to explain. Livestock - not just cows, but sheep, goats, etc. - eat mostly green, grassy stuff. It's hard for them to digest, but their stomachs have a lot of bacteria, fungi, and such growing in them, that help break down the food. Unfortunately, when it does that, it produces methane, and when a farm animal farts or poops, it releases methane into the air - just like methane escapes from melting permafrost. Nobody has taught cows not to pass gas, so..."
"Dad, you're kidding me!"
"Actually, I'm not. It doesn't seem like it could really be that big of a problem - thinking about all the other stuff Humans are doing - but there are millions - probably billions! - of livestock around the world, I guess maybe it could. You know, there's talk about reducing the number of domestic animals, or changing the kind of food they eat to something less methane-producing, but it'll never happen. Humans have probably forgotten already that they caused the situation with their livestock farming, and now they're to the point of blaming the cows for their bad manners. Welcome to the modern world, scape-cows!"
Junior was silent beside him. "It's weird, Dad," he said, finally. "Do you really believe that we - all the animals, Humans included - are at the end of the line, that climate change and global warming will eventually prove to be too much for life to continue?"
"Well, son, I know how hard this is already on your generation - feeling you have no future to look forward to - but I can't lie about how I feel, and I don’t think there's any evidence that I'm wrong. You and I - and maybe any kids you have - will be okay - increasingly uncomfortable, but 'okay.' It's the next generations that I don't have much hope for. Sorry not to be optimistic."
"That's okay. I'm sure lots of beavers don't want to know how bad it is, but I do. I'd like to make the best use of whatever time we have."
He gave his father a mischievous smile. "In fact, I've just decided what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I'm going to become a scientist, and teach cows how to fart more genteelly.”
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