When I was growing up, my brother rescued a beaver that had somehow made it's way into the heart of downtown Portland. He made a special pen for it out of an old bathtub, some 2x4s and chickenwire. Two things about beavers most people don't know. First, they stink. A lot. Just a pungeant moldy, oily aroma that seems to permeate the air around them in a way that doesn't seem possible. It's like someone sprayed Pine-Sol on a wet dog. Second, they are loud as shit. Not in terms of vocal grunts or anything, but they will take that giant tail and slap it into ANYTHING. When that beaver was slapping her tail against the bathtub, it sounded like a gunshot. You could hear it half a mile away. In the middle of a city. That's a loud-ass noise to have to deal with every single night.
And they're mean fuckers too. That little bitch chased my ass around the backyard. Granted, I was only like 5 or 6, so I was a much more viable target than the various adults around, but it was simultaneously terrifying and humiliating to get chased around my own backyard by an overgrown rat. Looking back on it, it was probably hilarious... but at the time, all I could think was "to hell with this, I'm going to drop kick that thing into space," at which point it would start running towards me and I would flip out and run inside.
So, yeah, fuck beavers.