Thoughts At Three (Episode 1)

3am is my own personal, hellish witching hour. All the ghosts, goblins and things that go bump in the night must be already turned in for peaceful slumber after the standard 12am witching hour, because things always seem to be pretty quiet at 3am. Although this morning I had the pleasure of hearing two cats going at each other viciously somewhere close by. With my luck, they probably found a way into my car and that's where are the cat-piss and fur from the bout will be found come sunrise. I have personally never used my car as a boxing ring, but then again, I am not a cat. I'm sure it would make a dandy one - especially if they figured out how to turn the radio on. I usually have the radio set to a station that would play perfect music for catfight accompaniment. I seem to hear "Eye of the Tiger" monthly, which usually gets my blood running and leads to me being pulled over and either warned or ticketed for speeding.

But I am not sitting at my desk at 3:41am to talk about catfights - unless there is a filmed version of a Sophia Loren/Raquel Welch offering from the mid 60's, then by all means, I shall review.

 "The Battle of the Super-Vixens" - Fight of the Century - Meow!

I am hear to talk about The Beaver. No, not Jerry Mathers and certainly not the much sought-after area of the female body that has lovingly been dubbed with that moniker. I am talking about the beaver that lives in the wild, building dams, swimming playfully in the world's rivers and slapping beaver-messages to their friends and family on the surface of the water with their tails. That Beaver.

In Belarus, a man died after being attacked by a beaver, which made me kind of sad. I thought, "So, in Belarus, it's come to this..." Then I read further and it was revealed that the beaver had attacked the 60 year-old man after he had grabbed the animal in order to have his photograph taken with it. I had always thought of the people of Belarus as kind and gentle, wise in the ways of the world, with impeccable taste. After all, according to my statistics, folks from Belarus have read my blog, presumably using the translating function that I made available for my foreign readers. However, I must amend my position on the Belarusiusians after reading of the beaver attack and subsequent death. I now know that they simply have impeccable taste - if only in their chosen reading materials.

Here's my thought: Why in God's name would you want to have your photograph taken with a beaver so badly that you would grab it? Though the beaver spends most of its time in the water, I still can't imagine that it smells very nice. And who knows what unpredictable mood the beaver might be in when you paw at it? Perhaps (and obviously, in retrospect), beavers do not enjoy the human touch and perhaps (and obviously, in retrospect), it might even agitate them to the point of attack - so why bother. Take your photo from a distance, perhaps poking your head, or a pointing finger into the frame, and get back in your little Belarusian car and keep moving.

Even this city boy would balk at grabbing a beaver. Any wildlife, really, but beaver in particular. They chew down trees. This would be akin to accosting a three-foot long, 60 lb., deliciously furry chainsaw, equipped with a speedy tail that could slap you to the other side of Tuesday. My message here is simple - stay away from the beaver. All wildlife if possible, the beaver in particular. Also, go back to bed and get some sleep - what in the fuck are you doing up at 4:15 in the morning, anyhow? Sweet dreams...