Timmy

In my third year at university I got a dog, which I named Timmy. He was a Staffordshire Terrier cross, and while I have never much been one for dogs that could potentially kill you, he was pretty darn cool. I lived on campus, and used to walk Tim on the miles of trails in the woods behind the residence. One of my favourite trails circled a small lake. The main trail was a fair distance from the shore, but there was a network of random criss-crossing paths that connected it to the lake. I never gave much thought to what was responsible for the making of these paths until one day I heard a loud rumbling sound coming down one of them from the woods. I turned my head just in time to see a huge beaver come tearing along at an incredible rate of speed, heading straight for poor Timmy, who was not 10 feet in front of me. At the time Timmy was only about three months old, and not very big. The beaver slammed into his side, and he was tossed a good four feet into the air. He hit the ground running, and chased the oversized rodent straight into the water. It was the beginning of November, and thought he water hadn’t yet frozen over it was a good 5 degrees below zero. I had to carry Tim home in my jacket.
Sadly, the following year, Tim had to be put down. I still miss him, even though he’s been gone for the better part of a decade.