The beaver

After a day and a half, the beaver swam ceaselessly across the little lake, its eyes fixed on me. It moved with an increasing sense of purpose, tracing the same path over and over again. Right, left, right, left. The urgency in its repetitive motion grew with each circuit, drawing it closer to the shore where I stood. With a sudden slap of its tail, it momentarily vanished beneath the surface, only to resurface and continue its relentless pattern. The tension in the air was palpable, as if the haunting melody of ‘Jaws’ echoed in the background. After enduring three or four of these calculated passes, I knew I had met my match. This lake was the beaver’s domain, and I had no choice but to seek refuge in a different sanctuary.