A nine-foot shark brutally attacked a young girl in shallow water about 180 miles from where I and my family, on the very same day, had decided to visit the sea. It took one of her legs. It returned for more, disproving the “sharks are not maneaters” theories many shark enthusiasts enjoy perpetuating. Thankfully, the young girl’s brother, a firefighter and EMT by trade, came to her rescue, ultimately fighting it off and engaging in critical first aid.

One might think that 180 miles would be quite the distance between that shark and the particular contingent of succulent human beings I call my family. And yet, if you were to consider the 995,000 total miles of the world’s coastlines as a dartboard, the beach where this young girl’s life was forever changed is well within the bullseye. What’s more, when you consider how far sharks can travel in a single day, that shark was by all means within range of giving anyone on our beach a try.

Okay, so perhaps I’m overreacting a bit. The thing is, I hate sharks. I make no bones about it here at The Angels’ Portion. I’m honest about it, so I don’t go into the ocean. While so many are concerned about the environmental cruciality of sharks, I’m cognizant of conversion by conviction. In other words, a person who ends up in a shark’s mouth is likely to enlist in my crusade, even if only in their last breath.

“Sure, they’re great for the environment,” the person might be thinking as one limb after the other is taken. “But in this moment of moments, I sure wish someone would’ve culled this particular species just a little bit more.”

Having heard the news of the attack, my wife asked the children and me at dinner what each of us would do if a shark ever attacked us. Madeline said she’d go for its eyes. Evelyn agreed because it’s a great move. Harrison said he’d go for the nose, having watched enough shark documentaries to know its nose to be the most sensitive part. I think I’d just let the shark have me. The fact that it had managed to attack me even though I was a hundred feet from the water proves a determination worthy of reward. I appreciate determination. Now, had I actually been in the shark’s domain—and because a day at the beach is best enjoyed through preparation—I would put the samurai sword I was carrying through its skull. Next, after it released me, I’d drop the hand grenade (something I’d also have been carrying) into its mouth and swim away using whatever appendages still functioned accordingly. Finally, I’d climb from the water to watch the explosion, smiling as the cocktail of shark guts and sand churned in the shallow seawater.

In short, when going to the beach, remember these four simple rules of thumb:

One, wear sunscreen. Two, sharks don’t function well on land. Three, sharks usually only eat wet things. Four, if you get into the water, bring weapons.

By the way, Wyoming doesn’t have sharks. Maybe that’s some sort of subconscious reason behind my appreciation of the Wyoming Whiskey’s Small Batch Bourbon.

With a nose of cinnamoned apples and vanilla, this Small Batch edition draws one inland to drier climates, where a stampede is more likely than an underwater feeding frenzy. Its palate is just as enticing, reaching out with freshly baked bread barely touched with a pepper almost immediately neutralized with butter and raspberry jam.

Unfortunately, the finish is too short, teasing the inland whiskey imbiber with hints of cinnamon and oak that barely have a chance to arrive.

Parenthetically, I can already hear my wife’s voice relative to stampedes and feeding frenzies. She has a favorite meme when it comes to the odds of being attacked by a shark. It may even speak an element of truth. Still, who vacations in a cow pasture, lathering up the children and then setting them loose to wander around within a herd of cattle? Nobody. People who work with cows are the ones behind these deathly statistics. It’s like comparing fatalities caused by robots to deaths caused by sharks when most robot-related deaths occur in automated manufacturing plants where robotics are most employed.

In the meantime, I’ve never heard of predatory, man-eating cows, and I’m pretty sure Skynet has not yet become self-aware. When these things occur, I’ll be the first to warn against 4-H clubs and elementary school robotics competitions. Until then, I’m going to sit right here on the beach sharpening my samurai sword, drinking my whiskey, and despising sharks.