THE OTTERS
By
J. Carleton Olson
Art by J. Carleton Olson
Chapter I
The morning was warm and bright when the otter decided she had little time to pick out a home for her anticipated new family. She had enjoyed the winter and its short days and long nights that now were reversing, but they would have to fade to memories as she faced the responsibility of raising her family.
The memories were pleasant. Many a day was spent playfully sliding down the snowy banks like a miniature furry brown toboggan. The stream and surrounding area had provided adequate fish for her main diet, and occasional crayfish, shellfish and frogs for some variety, a dessert or an occasional snack.
There were times when other animals would have enjoyed using her for their dinner, but few could catch her unaware; in spite of her apparent disregard for danger, as she played on hilly slopes and frozen streams, she was always alert and instinctively had an escape route. In most cases, it was fun to allow her antagonist to chase her, especially when parts of the stream were frozen. Often she would lead them onto the ice and watch their awkward slips and falls as they warily tried to approach her. She knew the clear cold water was her haven, and many of her adversaries were out of their element when they fell in. But the chase was fun while it lasted, and she liked to watch her supposed attackers clumsily trying to get out of the cold water she had tricked them into. Knowing that nothing could match her speed or agility in the water, she seldom had any fears.
After one more slide down her favorite muddy slope, she gracefully slid into the water that was now higher and muddier than usual due to the spring thaw and run-off. She started up stream to find a new home to have and raise her family.
After several hours of swimming and snooping along the banks for a ready-made home that would meet her satisfaction, she found an ideal place. It had an entrance on the bank that was under water and a rear entrance, well hid by fallen branches, under an old tree stump. After thorough examination, finding that it no doubt had been abandoned the preceding year, she decided to set up housekeeping. Probably the part she enjoyed most was that another otter or similar animal had done all the work for her, so all she had to do was make minor improvements and move in. And she noticed that the stream seemed to be well supplied with her favorite food.
Weeks passed and Mamma Otter was very proud of her three little brown balls of fur. She had been with them constantly except when she went after food or took an occasional romp through the beautiful spring days, enjoying the sunshine and a swim.
Everything was pleasant. Grass and flowers pushed themselves from the earth and stretched out as if reaching for the azure above. Leaves popped out over naked branches, transforming trees into colorful giants. They seemed alive and happy as the gentle winds helped them bow and stretch. The birds and animals had tuned their instruments and were waking the forests and meadows with their solos. Everything was serene and beautiful as Mrs. Otter went back to her family.
Chapter II
Now,
for the record, otters are not normally chicken thieves and would not kill them
for food unless nothing else was available.
But I am sure they wouldn't pass up giving them a good scare -- just for
the fun of watching them run or fly helter-skelter into each other, or into a
fence or building in a frenzied attempt to escape.
Mrs.
Otter had noticed, about one-fourth mile from her new home, a small farm with
plowed fields butting up to the edge of what she considered her woods.
And on several of her scampers through the area, she had noticed Farmer
Brown working in the fields, feeding the chickens and doing other odd jobs on
his quite isolated farm. Often when he came out of his tiny house -- which needed
paint, a new screen door and other repairs -- the picture was much the same: a
corncob pipe in one corner of his mouth and a toothpick in the other -- and
followed often by his small son, Ted, and always by his faithful dog, Shep.
They all seemed easy going, even lazy, in their slow methodical manner.
They
did not appear to present any threat to Mrs. Otter or her family. But
what she didn't know was that some other animal had killed several chickens the
night before, and Farmer Brown and his son had seen tracks around the chicken
coop that looked much like hers. They
had also seen her tracks around the stream when they had gone fishing.
Although she was unaware of it, they blamed her for killing the chickens.
On
one of her morning visits to the farm, she saw them come out of the house with a
more deliberate attitude. They
walked to a run-down shed, and when they come out, Farmer Brown carried an old
long shotgun and Ted a smaller gun. They
walked in her direction with old Shep bounding in front and glancing back at
them as if to say, “hurry up.” Shep
looked pleased and excited as they started toward her.
The
otter is no dummy -- she realized this spelled danger for someone, possibly her,
so she retreated home far ahead, remaining out of sight but keeping an eye on
them. When she got to the entrance
under the tree stump, she watched them come -- Shep still ahead with his nose to
the ground, his tail wagging and a happy little bark.
That was enough for the otter; she new the unlucky someone they looked
for was her, so she slipped into her house, got her babies into a corner,
cuddled up in front of them and listened.
She heard them talking and walking around outside her entrance, throwing protective branches away, and Shep digging at the base of the old tree trunk. Frightened not for herself but for her babies, she kept quiet. She knew the big dog could not dig them out because of all the roots of the tree trunk, but she also knew they wouldn't give up without trying.
After
a long time it became quiet. She
was afraid to look or come out because she had a real fear of guns. She had heard one once and saw what it did to a rabbit.
The otter was aware that her family was no longer secure and wished her
babies were older so they could swim to a new home, but that was impossible.
In the meantime, Farmer Brown, disgusted with his disappointment, was not
giving up. He went off to borrow
his neighbor’s pet ferret and was going to return.
A
ferret is smaller than an otter and a very vicious fighter. It darts in and out and is deadly with either teeth or claws.
In a fair fight, the otter has the advantage, but the ferret never fights
fair, and the otter had three helpless babies to protect as well as herself.
The otter was not surprised to hear Farmer Brown, Ted and Shep return, but she was surprised when they let the ferret go.
And into their home it came.
The next few minutes were a snarling, snapping, growling bedlam. The ferret's speed and agility protected it somewhat from the short ferocious attacks of the otter, but the otter was handicapped because she had to stay between the ferret and her frightened babies. Both knew if the ferret had a split second advantage, it could kill one or all of the babies. At the height of the melee, the otter made a desperate lunge at the elusive ferret and missed. The ferret countered with a lightning-like swing at one of the babies, gashing the side of its head and flinging it to the wall. The ferret started for another, but this time the otter did not miss -- she pounced on the ferret, biting and scratching the elusive, squirming creature with increased ferociousness.
The amazed and outclassed ferret managed to squirm away and escape. If she could muster enough courage and strength to go in again she might. For now she wanted to be a safe distance from that enraged otter; the ordeal was more than she had bargained for. She liked to fight, and she had gotten one of the babies, after all, so it wasn't all one sided, even if she did get the worst of the last encounter.
Maybe later, she thought.
Farmer
Brown and Ted curiously looked at her. They
were poised and ready to shoot anything the ferret drove out.
It startled them when she darted out of the ground like a fuzzy
white missile.
A hunting ferret's main purpose is to go into holes where ground animals live and chase them out so the hunters outside can test their shooting skills. The ferret failed and knew from past experience that, even if she wanted nothing more to do with that tough otter, Farmer Brown would probably push her back in to finish her job. But she hoped they would give her time to quiet down, rest and lick her wounds.
Although furious, Mamma Otter controlled her rage. She knew time was short, and instinct provided her with the knowledge that in many situations retreat was the better part of valor, and this was one of those situations. She picked up one of the surviving babies in her mouth by the nap of its neck, wishing she could save both at the same time, and quickly entered the stream through the exit that came out under water. Remaining submerged, she sped downstream toward a place she had seen while looking for the house they were now trying to escape from with their lives. It was not as nice as the house she was leaving, but would be adequate to raise her babies, if she could get them there.
She stayed close to the bank in the deeper water, hoping she could get beyond the range of the guns before the baby she carried drowned. If alone, she could travel about one-fourth mile without coming up for air, but things were different now. She sped through the water for as long as she thought the baby could stand it, then quietly surfaced, hoping she would not be seen. Still holding the baby in her mouth, she violently shook it in the air until it regained its breath, then back under water she dove, continuing her trip. She had to repeat the breathing stops a few more times before they got to the new home. Inside, she put the baby down and stopped just long enough to be sure it was breathing. Then she returned to what could have been a record-breaking underwater speed swim, hoping she could get back in time and that the other baby still lived.
When she arrived, she cautiously entered and could hear the talking and commotion around the old tree stump. She found the second baby cuddled in a corner, terrified but alive. She gently picked it up and went to the third one. With her paw, she slowly turned it over and saw the crimson gash on the side of its little head. She affectionately patted the cool body and covered it rapidly and carefully with dirt from the floor of their house. She reentered the water through the exit and repeated the same thing she had done with the first baby until she got to the new home.
When she got there, exhausted and depressed from the strenuous fight and tiresome escape, she noticed for the first time that she had bruises, cuts, and soreness. She was sure they would soon heal, so she cuddled her two babies close to her and the three of them fell asleep.
The next morning, she awoke and left her sleeping babies to inspect her new surroundings. She found they were a safe distance from Farmer Brown and that unforgettable ferret.
It was a nice morning with few clouds in the sky. Almost unbelievably there was a light warm rain falling. A colorful rainbow arched majestically, its hues becoming more vivid as it dipped closer to the earth.
As she approached the entrance to her new home, she noticed a tempting slope. Water beads clung to blades of grass, sparkling in the sunshine like millions of diamonds. She playfully slid all the way down it and gracefully plunged into the water. Very soon, she though, the children will be able to enjoy this.
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-- January 1971 by my uncle, John Carleton Olson
(North Mankato, Minnesota)
Revised 1978
