Water Games by Sue Spitulnik

The No Thanks crew took some new friends kayaking. Arriving at the lake, they found there were ten seats available and twenty guys, so they paddled in shifts. The first group came back. “We saw a beaver, and it even slapped the water with its tail at us.”
The second group set out, and when they returned, everyone was soaked to the skin. Michael asked, “Did you all tip over?”
Laughter erupted. “No, we never spotted the beaver, so we made up a game slapping the water with our paddles, and this happened.”
The first group demanded another trip.

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Impossible Creature by Norah Colvin

The day was magic with the sunlight and laughter of summer holidays.
They were resting on the riverbank when a splash broke the spell. “What was that?”
“A fish? Must’ve been big.”
“It was a duck! I saw its beak before it dived.”
“That’s ridiculous. It’s an otter. Ducks don’t have fur.”
“Can’t be an otter. Their tails aren’t flat. Gotta be a beaver.”
“Duh! There’s no beavers in Australia.”
The surface broke again.
“Look! Webbed feet. It is a duck. I told you.”
“But not with that spur.”
“A furry duck with spurs. Someone’s playing tricks. But who?”

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Try New Beaver Slap To Help Get You Through Your Day! by Joanne Fisher

Feeling like you’re just going through the motions? Like you’re never fully awake and achieving your potential? Are you just tired of feeling tired?

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The Beard by Anne Goodwin

The kids labelled our disagreements the gender wars, but we argued for fun. Which body type was easier: XX or XY? He bemoaned the daily ritual of shaving. I said that was trivial comparative to monthly PMT.

As we aged, disputes deepened, but didn’t dent our love. Friends had affairs, but we kept our wedding vows. He was patient through the mood swings of my menopause, but I didn’t expect that, when I stopped buying tampons, he’d stop buying razor blades. The grandkids called him Grandad Beaver, but I bristled at his bristles and could have slapped his face.

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Safe Haven by D. Avery

Wintertime was the worst. Then the pond out back was frozen over, the beavers invisible and unavailable to her. She imagined them content and cozy in their lodge, happy they were safe. In the summer her father often complained about them, kept the rifle out, but he was too lazy to set traps under the ice.

Now her father’s glass banged the table, a hard slap of sound, a warning of what was coming next. Sometimes she dreamed of escaping, of swimming underwater and entering the beaver lodge. Sometimes she prayed the beavers would just flood this house away.

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She Did What? by Christine

Paula saw it before she felt it but wasn’t able to move aside fast enough to avoid the THWAP! How on earth had it gotten this bad? She had heard about “cat fights” and the occasional “bitch slap” but the “beaver slap”? It was incredibly degrading and she felt immediate shame, along with the burning sensation that seemed to pulse from the back of her thighs. In all the years her and Emily had lived together as a couple, never had they resorted to violence until now. Paula had a feeling that this was changing things for the worse.

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No Prying Rights by Reena Saxena

Why has she not woken up today? The alarm rang half an hour ago…

His granddaughter asks him to open a box, and he indulges. The slap from a toy trapped inside shakes him up, but he smiles and moves away.

The beaver slap comes in the form of a message from his wife,

“Just because women in previous generations have given in to injustice doesn’t mean that I will. I cannot be a slave with clockwork efficiency. I need a life too.”

What does she want to do?

The question remains in limbo. Nobody is given prying rights.

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Beaver Slapped by Duane L Herrmann

“I’ve just been beaver slapped,” she said in surprise and not a little shock.
“You didn’t think that would happen?”
“Well, no.” she replied. “I thought that happened only in fairy tales – to the wicked stepmothers, or someone else equally bad.”
“Maybe it was an equal opportunity beaver,” he suggested.
“But, why me?”
“You’re intelligent, thoughtful, kind, generous, peaceful, loving,” he replied. “Why not you? We all get surprises, especially when unexpected.”
“But, but, but…”
“You’re now a member of the club.”
“What club?’
“The Beaver Slapped Club!”

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Brouhaha Brew? by JulesPaige

Beaver Slap Brew was the code word for Uncle Jeds ‘white lightning’ in brown bottles sold under the counter at the local bait shop. Truth be told, the label of the critter’s tale slapping the water was really all the warning you would ever need if you were smart. It was the drink of the old men with iron stomachs. Well the folks who ate a whole stick of butter first anyway – but they didn’t always tell everyone that trick. Old Sam was the only one allowed to sell it – and that was to family and friends.

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A Slap-Happy Beaver Tail Turn of Events by Bill Engleson

“Ah, come on pop…a beaver tail hat…all the kids are getting one.”
I‘m lookin’ at my salivating child. Can’t even believe he’s mine. Slap me silly, little guy’s bouncing off the culturally anachronistic walls. Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone are having a retro comeback. Might be because of Florida politics. Or not. He and his buds, sadly, don’t know the difference between a real coonskin cap and some fancy pantsy beaver pelt chapeau.
Raccoon hat or beaver bonnet, whatever’s on the market is likely to be synthetic.
Still, it’s comforting to see these young whippersnappers living in the past.

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Tall Tales by Charli Mills

Some men lingered around the dwindling campfire. Nancy Jane sat in the circle, snickering at a newcomer’s tall tales.

“Why, that rascally beaver stole Old Rodney’s only canoe paddle…”

Nancy Jane guffawed like a man. What Sarah would give to live as boldly as her new friend. Unafraid to share humor or pipe tobacco.

“…and then that beaver…”

Sarah contented herself to listening from the cold shadows outside the fire’s ring of warmth.

“…paddle slapped the water, flipping the canoe.”

Nancy Jane slugged the newcomer on his good arm, winked at Sarah cloaked in the dark, and blew pipe-smoke.

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One Day On the Lake by D. Avery

The first tail slap was a formality. The beaver was working some distance from the lodge. Then I paddled to the lodge, sat silently listening to kits mewing within. Too close. The second tail slap was a full body slam, the beaver coming alongside my kayak, smacking the water hard with her tail. Now the mewing ceased!
A motorized boat came, and the beaver disappeared after another tail slap. When that boat left, I again heard a beaver voice, this time soft clucking sounds. Perhaps an instructive story? I slipped away, not wanting to intrude further on this family.

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The Warning by A J Wilson

All was peaceful, until splash, the beaver slapped his tail vehemently against the water, sending a loud warning signal throughout the forest. The bear, who had been creeping up on the beaver’s lodge, stopped in his tracks, his paws sank into the sodden earth. He knew that beavers were fierce defenders of their homes, and he certainly didn’t want to get slapped. He turned. lumbering away, defeated.

The beaver lay back, pleased with himself, he had saved his lodge from the bear, and he had done it without even having to take a bite. Such a very clever fellow.

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Beaver Slap by Colleen M. Chesebro

“Thwappt!”

“What’s that?” Faeryn asked.

“It’s the slap of a beaver’s tale on the water,” Hilda said. “Haven’t you heard them when you’ve come Morel gathering with the others?”

“Never. This piece of woods by the river is eerie. We pick the mushrooms, and we leave. I’ve never heard the birds sing in this location either.”

“There’s a portal to the Underworld near the beaver’s lodge. There’s powerful magic here.”

Faeryn shivered. “My basket is full. Let’s go.”

Hilda nodded. The witches walked toward the woods.

Faeryn turned. The beaver stood atop his lodge, watching them.

She shivered, again.

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Reality Slap by D. Avery

The blue planet was unpeopled but bluer than it had been in a long time. The AI mechanisms that had eradicated the pestilence of humanity had found no reason to eliminate any other creatures, for no other creature had been wantonly intent on the planet’s demise.

Beavers were found to be most beneficial, for even AI needed water for their survival; water to cool the nuclear power plants they maintained, water to turn the turbines that remained inline; water to keep their planet healthy.

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Slapping the Tail by Nancy Brady

Finishing up my grocery shopping, I overheard Paula telling Carol talking about beaver tails. She’d just returned from a visit to Ontario and said she’d how good they were.

I asked, “Beaver tails? Did I hear you right?”

Paula said, “Yep, they’re a Canadian pastry, and boy, are they yummy! A flattened pastry with different fillings just slapped on. Chocolate and nuts, cinnamon and sugar, you name it.”

“Sounds delicious,” I said, heading out.

I looked them up on the Internet; they seem easy to make. Flatten the pastry, then slap that tail with toppings after frying it up.

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Smacked by a Beavertail by Miss Judy

One bitter cold day in February, we boarded a tour bus heading north, destination, Ottawa, Canada, Winterlude, a month-long festival. Anticipating many outdoor activities, we packed our warmest winter gear.
A four-hour ride dropped us at our hotel, the center of activity. Eager to get immersed in the festive spirit, we set off for the Canal, a prime location. As we got close, we heard the joyful excitement of the crowds. A sweet smell tantalized our tastebuds, we found flat puffy pastries dusted with cinnamon sugar. Canadians call it a Beavertail. We tried it, SMACK, we were tail smacked.

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Beaver Slap by Geoff Le Pard

Little Tittweaking’s Police Constables, Belle Ende and Dick Edd felt fully prepared for their shift. As part of extending the force’s inclusivity training, both had just returned from a course on counter-euphemism. It wasn’t unusual to be called out to the Beaver Slap, the town’s novelty emporia that stocked all accessories for the discerning dominatrix. The report suggested the incident involved a theft by some American visitors who’d been snatching packed fannies. After intensive questioning, the police issued a warning when it became clear the packed fannies were their own and the visitors were only intent on taking liberties.

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With A Little Hep From Yer Friens by D. Avery

“Pal! Ain’t heard from you since the High Water Collection. Kin ya tell where ya’ve been, or is it a secret?”
“Secret no more, Kid. Been workin on a s’prise fer thet hoglet a yers.”
“A s’prise fer Curly?”
“Yep. I seen how much she injoys bein amongst them beavers so I reworked some old saddle leather. Made her beaver feet fins an a big flat tail so’s she kin swim better an kin hep em gather mud.”
“Awesome, Pal. Here she comes, let’s try it out. Here, Curly. It all fits! Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop waggin yer tail!”

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Curly’s Cultural Conundrum by D. Avery

“Pal, let’s see how Curly’s gittin on down ta the beaver pond.”
“There they are, Kid. See how their wide tails hep em ta set down.”
“The beavers keep swipin at the base a their tails. An look, they keep pettin Curly.”
“They’re water-proofin her, Kid, oilin her up. Ain’t ya noticed her skin’s been less flaky since she took up with the beavers agin? Course, they could be markin her like territory, claimin her like.”
“Have I lost Curly ta the beavers? Curly, come!”
SLAP!
“Well, there they go. Thet broad leather tail a hers works real good.”

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Sting of Truth by D. Avery

“Aw, Pal, Curly’s tail slap on the water stings.”
“I know, Kid. But right now I reckon she’s riled up from hearin how her frien’s ancestors were hunted near ta extinction fer their pelts an thet castor oil. In Beavers’ stories we two-leggeds are the bad guys, an that’s by an large the truth. She’s angry ta know how even t’day these remarkable eco-engineers is considered ta be pests and nuisances.”
“Reckon I’d choose beavers over people if’n I had a choice.”
“World’d be in better shape. Beavers have a lot ta teach. But folks ain’t been good learners.”

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