Dream of: 01 January 1997 "Not A Very Smart Beaver"
I was riding in the front passenger seat of a car which my father was driving on a country road which seemed somewhere close to the Gallia County Farm. In fact we seemed to be on Symmes Creek Road – the road that runs through the Farm – traveling west, just on the other side of the creek from the Farmhouse. Instead of the hill which would normally rise on my right in that area, however, a large flat cornfield with rows and rows of tall corn spread out before us. The rows were perpendicular to the road so I was able to look through them as we drove by.
We passed a white car sitting beside the cornfield; some people were standing around the car. Suddenly, a few rows beyond the parked car, right on the edge of the field, something moved on the ground between two rows of corn. My father also saw the movement, and as we passed, I realized I had seen a small gray wolf, not more than a few months old, scampering in the field.
After we had passed the wolf I needed a few seconds to regain myself – I had been so surprised. But when it sunk in that I had actually seen a wolf (indeed a rarity in these parts) I began imploring my father to turn around and go back so that we could have a better look. Although he slowed down a bit, he seemed disinclined to turn around, and it appeared that he was just going to travel on. But then he seemed to have a second thought, and to my surprise, he turned the car around and headed back to where I had seen the wolf. I had the feeling that he had reflected that he hardly ever took time to do anything with me that I wanted to do. He seemed to be trying to make up a little by going back with me to look for the wolf.
We quickly reached the area where we had seen the wolf and my father stopped the car. We both stepped out and walked along the edge of the muddy field, looking down the rows of corn. But I soon began to despair; I felt sure the wolf must have already run away, or descended to a den buried underground, and that we would never find it.
Suddenly, however, I spotted a movement between the rows, and in a flash a gray animal rushed out of the field toward me. I had trouble focusing on the animal, but when I finally had it firmly in sight, I saw that the animal was clearly not a wolf. I didn't know what it was. Its fur looked wet, as if it had been in water, and more than anything, it resembled a groundhog. I finally concluded that the animal was a beaver. I also concluded that if it bit me with sharp beaver teeth, it could do serious damage; I backed away from it as it continued to advance on me.
The animal wasn't aggressive and it didn't try to attack, but at the same time it didn't try to move away. Every time I would move back from it, it would move toward me. I wasn't enjoying the game, and I flayed my arms, trying to scare the beaver away. My gesticulations had no effect, however, and the beaver – or whatever it was – continued to stand its ground in front of me, and even advance toward me. I began wondering if I were wearing boots and how high up they were on my legs under my pants, and whether they would protect me if the animal attacked.
My father, standing near me, likewise didn't seem to know what to make of the animal. Nevertheless, I had the feeling he agreed with me that our best option was to get away from the animal. Finally I saw a wooden tobacco stick, over a meter long, lying on the ground and I managed to pick it up. I poked the stick toward the animal, trying to persuade it to leave me. Still it refused to leave, and I muttered to my father that the beaver was "not a very smart beaver." I was simply saying that if the beaver were smart, it would take the hint, run back into the cornfield and leave us alone.
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