"Hey, hold it down will you?"
I was doing the crosswords outside since it was a warm, sunny day. My neighbors upstream were playing that God-awful rock-n-roll.
"Why don't you come join us, granddad?"
"Yeah, it'd be good for you."
My neighbors are beavers, too, though they're young and rambunctious. Last year they turned their dam site into a ΒΑΔ frat house and invited all their friends. They carry on all hours. Being only 50 yards downstream I get all the noise and rubbish.
I agreed. I knew I could drink them under the table. And … I'd wait and see. Theirs was a disorderly heap of trees, held together more by luck than design.
I met several of the brothers and their girlfriends. They were hospitable and free with the booze, and in no time I'd impressed them with my drinking prowess.
"Why don't you go help with the raft? You said you're an engineer. Maybe you can help with the steering or something."
I had shared that along with other personal details as I wanted to appear engaged.
"OK, but I'm sure they've got it under control."
I checked over the raft and while they weren't looking, I jammed the rudder with a bottle cap. The raft was launched, fireworks set for 30 seconds, but the raft turned and sputtered towards the center of their dam.
The explosion created a 20-foot hole in the dam. All the debris floated downstream, buttressing my dam. Miraculously, no beavers were injured.
That was six months ago. The breach hasn't been fixed.