I’ve always had a thing for beavers.
I could never wear a beaver-skinned anything – unless I was reincarnated back in time as a Canadian Indian, living in the vast untamed northern woods. I honour this amazing creature as I honour the part of the body that is named after it. I wouldn’t eat one. Whereas…
Why does this poor efficiently-fanged creature provoke sniggers in grown men and women alike? Is it vagina dentata in totem animal form? I think not, I think it is a modern reference owing much to outdated Judaeo-Christian morality and phobias about sexuality.
How anyone could mistake female pudenda (I presume the origin of the reference is to pubic hair) for this flat-tailed tree-felling river-damming swimming creature beats me.
Simon and Garfunkel never sang, “I’d rather be a beaver than a snake” did they? If they did, I would have heard it. I listen to everything.
I can hear beavers eating trees, nib-nib-nib nibbling by the foresty bank – crash – splash!
I can hear snakes hisss-sssss-ssssing slithering almost silently… crossing water, grass, leaves…
Watch out, beaver! – (I’m on your side by the way)
Just don’t give me those big sad eyes, I can’t take that, not with the big sad teeth.
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There are a few beavers near my parents’ home. They aren’t Canadian, though, unless they got some really good deals on cheap airfare. They are always working by the little river, chewing trees and damming up the water. Very hard workers, they are! (Yoda, you are…)
You have to check out the Tasmanian Devil, they have the most awesome reproduction habits. I want to be reincarnated as one.
Rainy
i’d never kill a beaver.