My friend the beaver.

The other morning at work I met a beaver. It was four in the morning, and I was mowing the greens on the second hole at the golf course. I see him off in the distance. Like a log dragging itself along there was this huge beaver, walking toward the man-made pond on the other side of the grass. I have no doubt that he was going there simply to scoff at its shoddy human design.

I decided that it would be a good idea to steer over to him, and harass this strange creature with my bright shining headlights. To him I was surely a huge prick. He stopped dead in his tracks and gave me the "are you fucking kidding me?" stare. My good ideas seemed to be coming rapidly that morning, because then I decided to dismount my mower and get a closer look at this beast.

At this point I think it is a good idea to point out that a beaver is bigger than the pillow you sleep with at night, and has the attitude of a mean-ass rat. Imagine the rat that bit you at your friend's house, and you thought that thing was mean and stupid but you never put your hand back into the cage. That rat is the size of a banana, maybe. This thing is like godzilla compared to that rat. Did I mention they chew down trees for fun? All of these things failed to occurr to me then. Retrospect is great that way.

To my credit, I was prepared for anything and never let my guard down, after all this thing was pretty beastly. It was also rather majestic. I knew I was disturbing his morning ritual, and he probably hadn't even had any coffee yet either. As I approached him cautiously, he turned his body and came a half step toward me, hissing in his beaver language, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I couldn't understand anything he said, but the message was clear. I was suddenly aware of the fact that beavers eat trees, and that I am a creature which stands upon two of them. My mower was a much better place for me to be.

I got back on my mower and he performed his same intimidating leer. "Now get back to work you stupid-ass!" once more he hissed angrily in beaverese. It isn't a language that many humans know but it is a pretty straighforward language. I rode off, and soon he disappeared into the pond.

I'm glad that I was careful enough not to get my legs chewed off. I would hate to have ended up a part of a beaver's damn someplace although I must admit, he would have earned it. I once heard a story on the news of how some guy got his fingers bit off by a beaver I laughed. Now I totally understand why. Beavers look big and cool and badass. I saw that beaver and wanted to befriend him (beaver-end him?) but he is not simply some cool looking water-loving badass. He is a big amphibious mean-ass rat, that is looking out for number one, and not my friend.

This new layout confuses me. I'm not sure how I feel about it.



Working at the golf course is great. I have a pretty stress-free job environment. My co-workers have few complaints, and are easy to work with. I'm very lucky in that regard. And I get to bird-watch all day long. This sounds like I'm bragging. My work isn't always easy. I do a lot of walking and I operate potentially dangerous machinery, which always makes me feel like an SCV. "SCV Good to go sir!"