Ok, I seem to get myself in trouble with this. Here's the deal. My name, Beverly, means the meadow where the beaver dwells, or according to Behind the Name, beaver stream. Go ahead, have your giggles. I was adult before I knew there were sexual connotations to what had become my totem animal, and it's too late now for me to change my feelings. Beavers are industrious, they're creative. Last year while kayaking with Neal and Brian, we startled a beaver who was snacking on some ferns. He looked pretty ticked off at us, which made me like beavers even more. Nothing like seeing emotion in an animal (don't give me that worn out attitude that animals don't have emotions. I can't be convinced).
Now, I'm a vegetarian. Yes, I still wear some leather, and yes, I know everything you might want to say about that. My reasons for my eating habits are a subject for another post. I don't like the idea of animals being harmed or killed. But, man, am I ever tempted by this. Go look. It's beaver yarn. Kind of horrible and kind of fascinating.
I am more tempted, however, by this. You saw right. Socks that Rock has a club now. I may join for just one month. I want to join for a year, but my graduate student budget is getting in the way. For that matter, I'd like to join the Dizzy Society, too. I need me a yarn sugar daddy, kids!
2/22 ETA: Apparently beavers are decended from these neato prehistoric creatures. Love me some prehistoric freaky animals!