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Ever had a perfectly ordinary day suddenly transform into a story you'll be telling for decades? That's exactly what happened when a simple golf game turned into "The Beaver Dam Incident."
My supposedly reliable 56-degree wedge—ironically nicknamed "the closer"—had other plans that day on the 16th hole. One slippery grip later, and my beloved club was helicoptering through the air before landing squarely in what I can only describe as "a rodent condo." Thus began our impromptu rescue mission featuring four grown men, a borrowed groundskeeper's rake, and one very unimpressed beaver.
Send me a message, pretty please.
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Here For the Memories
By Linden WolfeEver had a perfectly ordinary day suddenly transform into a story you'll be telling for decades? That's exactly what happened when a simple golf game turned into "The Beaver Dam Incident."
My supposedly reliable 56-degree wedge—ironically nicknamed "the closer"—had other plans that day on the 16th hole. One slippery grip later, and my beloved club was helicoptering through the air before landing squarely in what I can only describe as "a rodent condo." Thus began our impromptu rescue mission featuring four grown men, a borrowed groundskeeper's rake, and one very unimpressed beaver.
Send me a message, pretty please.
Memories eStoreSupport the show
Here For the Memories