pico and the man: MR. JONES: THE BEAVER THAT GOT AROUND

A EULOGY IN TWO PARTS

Some of you may have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Jones, probably on the road somewhere, traveling between cities, posing by landmarks. Born in November at the Portland Market, he became a traveling companion for iwriteplays and me. This beaver got around. He hit up the Northwest, crossing borders between Oregon and Washington, then flying back to California. More recently, Mr. Jones with his big brown eyes and sassy smile joined us for a cross country drive, making his way through fifteen new states. His upbeat personality and comforting presence got us through long days of driving, and lonely nights in cheap motels. In West Texas, he shared a milkshake with iwriteplays, and he pointed out some scenic landscapes for photos as we drove through the desert.

Mr. Jones was a benevolent beaver, who made friends wherever he went. But while iwriteplays and I considered him a necessary part of every trip from the time we adopted him, he decided once he reached the East coast, it was time to strike out on his own. So as we rushed to catch a train from Stamford, CT into NYC, he rolled himself out of the car, and hid nearby until we were gone. From that point on, I can only hypothesize his moves, but I assume he made his way to the woods, sought out some well maintained beavers, and began a whole new adventure for himself. I fully expect to see a spike in the New England beaver population next season.

Goodbye, Mr. Jones. You were a great companion, but I respect your need for more space and your fear of spending further months stuck in one place until your friends decide travel again. Good luck in your new adventures. We wish you the best.

-Panda

Panda is being a bit too generous in her description of our last night with Mr. Jones. I am wracked with guilt, and I have a confession to make. I killed Mr. Jones.

It wasn't intentional. He was sitting on my lap, and we were so late for the train! He must have slipped out of the car when I rushed to grab my bag and run to the platform. I didn't mean to leave him. I loved the little guy, after all. It was accidental beaverslaughter, or beavercide in the third degree, at best.

In an attempt to atone for my crime, I have compiled a little photo essay from his travels. (Imagine Sarah MacLachlan's "I Will Remember You" playing in the background.) One thing we can all agree on: this beaver got around!