I am more than half persuaded that the muskrat is a wise little
animal, and that on the subject of the weather, especially, he
possesses some secret that I should be glad to know. In the fall
of 1878 I noticed that he built unusually high and massive nests.
I noticed them in several different localities. In a shallow,
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 rats knew better than I did; they
had received private advices from headquarters, that I knew not of.
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 water-course; 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 corner-stone--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. This, I said, 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.
Shall we not say, then, in view of the above facts, that this
little creature is weatherwise? The hitting of the mark twice might
be mere good luck; but three bull's-eyes in succession is not a
mere coincidence; it is a proof of skill. The muskrat is not found
in the Old World, which is a little singular, as other rats so
abound there, and as those slow-going English streams especially,
with their grassy banks, are so well suited to him. The water-rat
of Europe is smaller, but of similar nature and habits. 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.