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    A few weeks ago I was fishing in a 'fishing kayak' on a river at 11pm on a moonless night. I could only see the sky contrasted above the black tree-canopy surrounding the river unless I had my flashlight turned on. I was checking yo-yo's fishing for catfish, and was having no luck. I paddled towards the last yo-yo and heard a terrific splash, like a teenager doing a 'cannon ball', it was LOUD and deep sounding. I imagined what type fish could be capable and none came to mind. I whipped my flashlight towards the ruckus and behold: the angry beaver.

    The Friday before this particular Sunday, I had read an article about a Boy Scout troop leader who was attacked by a rabid beaver in Virginia or Pennsylvania. Regardless, this guy had an angry beaver repeatedly attack him, biting, etc., until he fought it to the shore and tossed it away - whereupon his troop members dispatched the mad rodent. So I was not ready to confront my angry beaver, not at all.

    I made for the shore as fast as I could without turning to see if I was being pursued. A beaver could easily swim up to my kayak and jump aboard to do battle. I was not on board for that fight. I made it to the shore, jesticulating and panting incoherently to my 17 year old son and 16 year old daughter. They, of course, laughed heartily and I've not been able to live this one down...

    So, my son wrote me a  song and named it 'Angry Beaver'.

    Angry Beaver

    I'm a proud dad. I love that song...