Giant Canadian Beaver

On one side of the dirt path bits of dried broken corn leaves blew in circles in a cleared farmer's field. A little hurricane. On the other side, the river. Dirty and forever. My eyes settled on the river. They always do. You never know what might go by.

There is always something. A tug. A log. A speedboat filled with fishermen, drinking, laughing, spilling their motherfucking guts into the current. Today was different. Something new went by.

It was the elusive Canadian giant beaver. Fourteen feet long. Its tail strong and swift enough to capsize a small tug. "Holy fuck," I said to myself, "Nobody is going to believe this."

The Hammer saw it too. She looked at the beaver, then she looked at me. Too bad she did not say something, then I would have had a real story to tell.

We watched the giant beaver swimming effortlessly against the current. I wondered if it was a female or a male. I wondered if there has ever been anyone brave enough to get close enough to find out what sex a fourteen foot long beaver is.

We watched the legendary beaver swimming in the sun. Then it went down and we saw it no more.