4:2

Edward shook his head. What an odd dream. I wonder who that girl was? And why ever my subconscious would think I would want to work with that beaver, I have no idea. I couldn’t come up with a more ridiculous idea with a bottle of vodka in me.

Edward sat under a juniper shrub atop the small rise on the edge of the park. As he watched the people come and go, he was planning and thinking of the next steps. Number one was to corner the bloody rodent and get some straight poop out of him because this was borderline ridiculous. Number two was to get out of the city because he would bet his fuzzy white tail that this was just an offshoot of the problem. What he needed to do was find the head and remove it.

Then maybe a well-deserved break: somewhere nice and quiet, free of uppity beavers and intrusive humans. “Yeah, sure,” Edward snorted. “Maybe Greenland or Antarctica!”

Edward rose and gave his hindquarters a little shake. “Time to be about it,” he informed the shrub, and he was off across the grass, headed for downtown.