Two dams, bad

What's with the beavers this year? Lodges like high-rises. A million mouthfuls of mud per story. Maybe more. It's hard to say what they can pack in. Regardless, they must know something. I know the guy who unclogs the culverts along the West Arm Road. The beavers keep him busy. You couldn't pay me to step into his chest waders. Heck, some of those beavers weigh more than I do. I'd hate to make one mad. Even the slap of a tail knocks the wind right out of me. Needless to say, every time we drive down that road, I picture the guy. I'll picture him again tomorrow. And again. Dam. Dam. Water up to his armpits. What if his foot gets caught? What if his waders fill up? What then?