Locution Reclamation

Above is a picture of a truly excellent beaver.

And within that one sentence, and your reaction to it, my problem is described.

You see, I know exactly what you thought when you read that first sentence. I thought it too.

It's not that we're perverts, you or I. It's just one of the (mostly) useful quirks of the human brain that what we see in print we can't help but picture. If I say the words "yellow tulip", for example, you picture a yellow tulip.

If I say "pink elephant", up it pops in your subconscious.

And if I say beaver?

Well, yes, the animal as pictured above comes to mind, but so does... something else.

If you're lucky enough not to know what the hell I'm talking about, good. I'm not going to "enlighten" you. I'm not your older sibling or a public information service. I'm just one man and his blog.

And if you do know what I'm on about and think I'm talking about beavers for a cheap laugh, I'm not - I promise.

You see, for the first eleven or twelve years of my life I told anybody who cared to ask (and for some reason people do care to ask much more often when you're a child) that my favourite animal was the beaver. But as I got older, I realised that I couldn't make that admission any more.

There wasn't any embarrassing moment of realisation that has haunted me ever since. It was a more gradual process. At first I just knew, somehow, that I wasn't allowed to admit the beaver was my favourite animal any more, without knowing why. The true second meaning of the word followed later, but again it came not suddenly, but more by absorption.

Beavers still are my favourite animal - with good reason. They're nature's great builders, lumberjacks, and engineers. They fell trees, dam rivers, and make elaborate homes with underwater entrances. They can hold their breath for fifteen minutes, are webbed of foot, have orange teeth, a sophisticated communication system and are undeniably charming and cute. Best of all, they're once again native to Britain having been recently re-introduced.

So why have I decided to rhapsodise about this rodent now? Well I'm afraid the answer lies in the unfortunate second meaning.

Yesterday I came across this news story.

The great "The Beaver" magazine is having to change its name to the more prosaic "Canada's History". The reason, as you may have guessed, is that beaver's second meaning plays havoc with internet searches for the publication.

Now I know that in world terms, it's nothing more than a small shame. But it's a shame nonetheless. I want to live in a world where a magazine about canadian history can name itself after one of its greatest inhabitants, and where I can be honest about my favourite animal.

Readers, remember the time. For this is the day I reclaim the beaver.