A beaver in Germany. Photo: Getty
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The government is capturing wild beavers for the first time in centuries

Beavers are the new badgers as the government's decision to trap England's wild beavers causes outrage among wildlife lovers.

Beavers. They're the ones who build dams and have tails that look like scaly ping-pong bats. They are very resourceful creatures who usually appear in fiction as industrious yet cosy folk, just hanging out, working on their dams and paddling with efficiency. Tory values, really. Ironic then that the government has decided to capture and house in a zoo England's first wild family of beavers in about 500 years.

The beavers live somewhat confusingly in a place called the River Otter, which is in Devon, and were first spotted in February this year in video footage captured by a local environmental scientist.

Defra minister George Eustice told parliament yesterday: "We intend to recapture and rehome the wild beavers in Devon and are currently working out plans for the best way to do so. All decisions will be made with the welfare of the beavers in mind. There are no plans to cull beavers."

But campaign group 38 Degrees has started a petition called "SAVE THE FREE BEAVERS OF ENGLAND" to send to the department, which states, "The beaver was hunted to extinction and we have a duty to bring them back to our rivers."

Here's the original footage of the family:

Here are some beavers:

A North American beaver. Photo: Getty

 

 

North American beavers. Photo: Getty

A beaver in Germany. Photo: Getty

A Scottish beaver. Photo: Paul Stevenson/Getty

A beaver in Germany. Photo: Getty

A beaver in Oregon. Photo: Bill Damon/Flickr

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.

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“Minoan pendant”: a new poem by Mark Granier

“Yes – I press my nose / to the pleasantly warm glass – / it’s a copy of one I saw / cased in the cool museum”

Yes – I press my nose
to the pleasantly warm glass –
it’s a copy of one I saw
cased in the cool museum –
gold beaten to honey, a grainy
oval dollop, flanked by two
slim symmetrical bees –

garland for a civilisation’s
rise and collapse, eye-dropped
five thousand years: a flash
of evening sun on a windscreen
or wing mirror – Heraklion’s
scooter-life buzzing and humming –

as I step in to browse, become
mesmerised by the warm
dark eyes of the woman
who gives her spiel and moves
softly and with such grace,
that, after leaving, I hesitate

a moment on the pavement
then re-enter with a question
I know not to ask, but ask
anyway, to hear her voice
soften even more as she smiles
and shakes her hair – no.

Mark Granier is an Irish poet and photographer. He is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently Haunt (Salmon).

This article first appeared in the 16 June 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Britain on the brink