Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One: The Curious Visitors
Chapter Two: Waking the Beast
Chapter Three: The Plan
Chapter Four: Chomping and Chasing
Chapter Five: The Wild West
Chapter Six: A Temporary Truce
Chapter Seven: An Unexpected Plan
Chapter Eight: To Catch a Mountain Lion!
Chapter Nine: Friends and Fish!
Epilogue
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Copyright
About the Publisher
oody Brown and Sooty Black darted along the riverbank, diving in and out of the water, and laughing as they raced each other home. The otter pups had spent the whole day chasing fish and skimming stones, but they were still full of energy.
“I wonder what our mums will be preparing for dinner?” asked Woody.
“Crayfish, I hope!” replied Sooty, drooling at the thought. “They’re tricky to catch with those big snappy claws, but our dads fishing together usually grab enough for everyone, without getting a single nip.”
The Brown family and the Black family lived together in a large old beaver lodge on the bank of the river. The two families had moved in as rivals and competed in the first-ever river races to decide who should stay, but they got on so well that they finally agreed to share. Pups, teens, parents and grandparents, eighteen otters in total, lived on a luxury island of twigs and branches called Cottonwood Lodge. With so many animals living under one roof, every mealtime was a big fishy banquet.
“Wait!” whispered Woody, stopping so suddenly Sooty almost crashed into him. The brown otter pup reared up on his hind legs and sniffed the air, twitching his whiskers.
“What is it?” whispered Sooty. He knew it had to be something important for his friend to stop so close to home, especially as it was almost dinnertime.
“I think someone was here a moment ago,” said Woody, frowning and scanning the muddy ground. “But it wasn’t an otter. Look at those strange tracks!”
He pointed to two long trails of flattened mud that led down to the water. It was as though whoever left them was dragging something flat and wide behind them, to cover their paw prints.
“Over there!” gasped Sooty, as he spotted two furry heads emerging from the river. The intruders were facing the other way, so the otter pups leapt into the bushes to hide and watch. The rust-coloured heads turned to reveal bulging cheeks and large front teeth that gleamed in the light of the setting sun.
“Beavers!” said Woody and Sooty together, peeping through the leaves as the strangers swam towards them. The beavers clambered up on to the bank and appeared to study the river. One was large with a huge flat tail and enormous yellow teeth, while the other was smaller and appeared to be the same age as the otter pups.
“Well?” said the big beaver gruffly. “Tell me what you think.”
“I don’t know, Papa,” the young kit shrugged, awkwardly.
“Don’t know?” grumbled his father, licking a claw and holding it up to the breeze. “What are your tingling teeth telling you?”
“Er, it’s nice?” the youngster replied.
“Nice?!” the elder beaver exclaimed. He snatched a few leaves from the bush and tossed them in the river, watching their movement as they sailed downstream. He then surveyed the surrounding banks and high tree-line and took a deep breath.
“It’s perfect!” he added gruffly. “Now come along, or your mother and sisters will be wondering where we are.”
As the beavers dived back into the water and swam upstream, the two otter pups scrambled out of the bush, dusted off their glossy coats and frowned at each other.
“What do you think that was all about?” asked Sooty.
“I don’t know,” replied Woody. “But I think we should tell our parents about it when we get home.”
Cottonwood Lodge was just round the river bend and when the pups arrived they hopped out of the water on to the mooring pad and scurried through the main entrance. This led to a large central chamber with wide tunnels leading to smaller chambers, all bustling with otter activity.
Papa Brown and Papa Black had returned moments earlier and were busy dragging a basket filled with the day’s catch to Mama Brown and Mama Black.
The Brown twins, Nutmeg and Chestnut, were playing tag with the Black twins, Storm and Shadow. They were darting in and out of every chamber, making as much noise as possible.
Coco Brown and Berry Black were in their room, which was an oasis of calm because the young female otters spent most of their time grooming and weaving flowers into jewellery.
In the central chamber Grandpa Jack Black and Grandpa Bruno Brown were telling tales of their youth as boxing champions, while young surfer, Jet Black, quizzed them on their many sporting achievements. Grandma Maple Brown was there too, but she kept quiet as she didn’t like to encourage the old otters, even though she was secretly proud of her husband’s heavyweight boxing titles. The younger pups, Beanie Brown and Coal Black, were listening to the boxing stories too, while bobbing on their backs in the indoor pool and munching snacks from lily-pad plates.
All of the otters, Black and Brown, were busy having fun in their own unique ways, living in happy otter chaos at Cottonwood Lodge. But every one of them stopped what they were doing when they heard the fishing basket open; all were eagerly waiting to see what was for dinner. Mama Brown and Mama Black slowly squinted inside the basket, nodded in approval and cuddled their husbands. Papa Brown and Papa Black then tipped the contents out on to the floor for everyone to see.
“HOORAY!” cheered the otters as a massive haul of crayfish poured out.
Woody and Sooty were so excited at the sight of their favourite meal that they forgot all about the beavers they had seen. It was only after dinner, when everyone had eaten their fill and a little bit more, that the youngsters remembered their strange encounter.
“We saw beavers today,” said Woody, sucking on a crayfish claw.
“Where?” asked Grandpa Bruno, narrowing his eyes.
“They were round the bend in the river,” replied Sooty.
“How many?” asked Grandpa Jack, sitting up straight.
“Two,” Woody and Sooty replied together.
They were surprised that their grandpas had shown such interest in the beaver sighting. The old otters usually fell asleep after dinner, and sometimes during. Papa Brown and Papa Black sat up too and frowned at Mama Brown and Mama Black. Then they all shook their heads and chuckled their secret fears away.
“Two beavers don’t mean anything,” said Papa Brown.
“This used to be a beaver lodge, after all,” added Papa Black, indicating their fine surroundings. “So we should expect one or two beavers passing through here from time to time.”
“They mentioned a mother too,” said Woody.
“And sisters,” added Sooty.
“A whole family?” said Mama Brown, furrowing her brow.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” chirped Mama Black, seeing the frowning young otters peering up at her. And when the other adults saw the concerned looks on the youngsters’ faces, they immediately agreed and smiled.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” said Papa Brown.
“Nothing at all,” added Papa Black.
“It’s getting late,” said Mama Brown.
“Time for bed then,” said Mama Black.
“Yes, come along, sleepy pups,” said Grandma Maple merrily, herding the young otters towards the indoor pool. “Let’s get those paws and furry faces washed and then it’s off to beddie-byes for all of us!”
Woody and Sooty thought the beaver sighting was odd, but hadn’t
really thought there was anything to worry about. Not until their parents started saying there was nothing to worry about!
“Why do you think everyone behaved so strangely when we mentioned the beavers?” whispered Woody, as they lay in their grass and moss beds.
“Maybe they think the beaver family are the ones who used to live here,” said Sooty. “And they’re afraid they might want to take Cottonwood Lodge back.”
“But the beavers didn’t come this far down river,” said Woody. “And they would know where their old home was. It looked to me as though they’d never been around these parts before.”
“I agree,” said Sooty, with obvious relief. “So there’s probably nothing to worry about after all. The grown-ups are just being weird again, as usual.”
Woody and Sooty both laughed until a series of loud “SHHH!” noises came from the other chambers. They stifled their giggles and settled down to sleep, happy in the knowledge that all was well in their riverside world and nothing terrible was going to happen.
he following morning was warm and sunny, but instead of waking to the sound of birds singing cheerfully and dragonflies fluttering dreamily, the two otter families were startled awake by the familiar voice of Beanie Brown, from outside the den.
“SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED!” she cried.
There was a sudden surge of activity as dozens of panicking otters raced out of their chambers, through the tunnels and out on to the mooring pad, where they found Beanie gazing into the tranquil water.
“What’s wrong, my darling?” gasped Mama Brown.
“Yes, tell us, my dear,” added Grandma Maple.
Woody Brown knew his shy sister could become even more unconfident when put on the spot, so he stepped alongside Beanie and held her paw. “What is it?” he whispered.
Beanie frowned at Woody and then pointed to the water.
The assembled otters moved closer to the edge of the mooring pad and peered into the river, expecting to see something terrifying like a crocodile or an alligator. What they saw was … absolutely nothing.
“There’s nothing there, sis,” whispered Woody.
“I know,” said Beanie, sniffing and wiping her shiny black nose with a paw.
Woody Brown looked into the river again and considered why Beanie might be up before everyone else and what could possibly make her scream in terror – and then gasped when he eventually worked it out.
“The fish have all gone!” he said.
“Fish don’t just vanish overnight,” said Grandma Maple, dipping her tail in the water and swishing it from side to side, in the hope of drawing a few nibbles to the surface. “They must be just hiding.”
As the main providers of food for both families, Papa Brown and Papa Black dived into the river. They darted about deep underwater, stirring up clouds of bubbles intended to scare up any fish that might be lurking at the bottom, but there was nothing except riverweed, rocks and old empty shells.
Mama Brown clutched the paws of Mama Black as their husbands returned to the surface and shook their heads gravely. The rest of the otters appeared baffled by the mystery, with the exception of Grandpa Bruno, whose eyes widened as he understood what had happened.
“Beavers!” growled the old otter.
“Beavers!” agreed Grandpa Jack.
“How could beavers steal all of our fish?” asked Woody.
“They don’t steal them,” said Grandpa Bruno. “They stop them.”
The old brown otter jumped into the water and swam to the middle of the river where he could see past the bend. “They’ve built a dam right across, just a short way upstream,” he yelled. “All of our fish have carried on swimming downstream and no new ones can get through.”
“They’ve blocked the flow of the river!” gasped Grandma Maple.
The black and brown otters all dived into the water and swam out to Grandpa Bruno and saw for themselves that the dam was huge. There was an enormous felled tree, its trunk stripped, stretching from one bank to the other. Along its length the trunk was piled high with branches and logs, all packed tightly together with mud and grass. There was also the bristly roof of a lodge on the riverbank that had to be the beavers’ home.
“Everyone back to Cottonwood Lodge,” growled Grandpa Bruno, snorting through his nostrils. “I’m going to have a polite word with our new neighbours.”
“I’ll come too,” added Grandpa Jack. The old black otter knew only too well how hot-headed Bruno could be and wanted to keep an eye on him.
“You’re not going without us!” said Papa Black and Papa Brown.
“Be careful, all of you,” warned Grandma Maple, looking fretful. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Mama Black and Mama Brown made their husbands promise to be safe and to look after the old boxers, whose advancing years had done nothing to quell their fighting spirit. Then the two wives hugged and rubbed noses with their husbands, waved them off and herded the young otters back to the lodge.
Along the way the mother otters answered questions about beavers from Coal and Beanie, calmed fears of fish-oil shortages from Coco and Berry and told the two sets of twins to stop squabbling, all the while assuring Grandma Maple that Grandpa Bruno would return in one piece. So it was no wonder they failed to notice that two young pups were missing.
Woody and Sooty had crept away to spy on the elder males, swimming silently as they approached the dam. Then they hid behind an overhanging tree and watched as Papa Black and Papa Brown called into the entrance of the beaver lodge. The grandpas were grumbling and growling like a pair of grumpy gargoyles.
“Hello?” called Papa Black.
“Is there anyone home?” added Papa Brown.
“They must be home,” said Grandpa Jack.
“Eating our fish, no doubt!” snorted Grandpa Bruno.
“Stop that,” warned Papa Brown. “We’re being polite, remember?”
Papa Black was about to call into the dark hole once again when he heard movement from inside. The four otters stepped back just as a big rust-coloured beaver stepped out, bleary-eyed and scratching his head.
“What’s all this noise about?” he growled, and then yawned. The beaver had obviously been fast asleep and didn’t appreciate being woken up. “Don’t you know I work nights?”
“Well, that’s what we’ve come about,” said Papa Black, motioning to the felled tree and mesh of branches blocking the flow of water. “You appear to have spent the whole night building a dam that happens to be very close to our lodge.”
“Our river level is now rather low and moves much more slowly,” added Papa Brown, seeing how high the river was on the other side of the dam. “And it also appears to be entirely fish free.”
“So?” said the beaver.
“We were wondering if you wouldn’t mind moving it somewhere else,” Papa Black smiled, hopefully. “You see, there are eighteen otters already living on this section of river, all with hearty appetites, and we were here first.”
There was a long silence during which the frowning beaver seemed to consider the otter’s suggestion to move. He looked at the four adult otters in front of him; he looked at the two young otters hiding behind an overhanging tree branch, and then he looked up at his dam.
“No,” said the beaver, and made his way back inside the den.
“Ooh, let me at ’im!” growled Grandpa Bruno, already swinging his paws, but Grandpa Jack held him back until the moment passed.
Suddenly, the beaver reappeared, followed by five other beavers.
“This is my wife, Twiggy,” he said, motioning to the eldest female, who had obviously heard everything and was scowling at the otter intruders. “And those are my daughters, Holly, Willow and Hazel – also known as the Saw Sisters.”
“The sore what?” asked Papa Brown.
“The Saw Sisters,” the beaver repeated proudly. “They can fell a tree in thirty seconds and have won prizes for bark-stripping, stick-stacking and branch-breaking. You name it – the
y’ve won prizes for it.”
The three grown-up daughters ground their huge teeth menacingly.
“My name is Chuck,” the beaver concluded, and folded his arms defiantly. “And after we spent the whole night building a brand-new dam and cosy lodge to live in, we’re not going anywhere!”
“You forgot one!” yelled Woody from behind the rustling branch.
It was then that the head beaver frowned and remembered the youngest member of his family. The kit was standing behind his sisters, scratching in the muddy ground with a stick.
“Oh,” said Chuck with obvious disappointment. “That’s Chip.”
The young kit lifted his head at the mention of his name and smiled at the adult otters. Then he saw the otter pups behind the tree and waved at them.
“Chip was meant to be a chip off the old block and take over my dam-building business,” growled Chuck, clearly comfortable sharing his parental sorrows with perfect strangers. “But all he does is scratch around in the mud.”
“He does his best,” sighed Twiggy, patting Chip’s head.
“Hmmm,” grumbled Chuck.
“Now look here!” growled Papa Brown, thinking that the head beaver was trying to get his own way by changing the subject. “We were here first, so according to river rules that means—”
“Don’t you live in Grinder Grime’s old place?” interrupted Chuck.
“Well, we didn’t know his name, but it was an abandoned beaver lodge,” said Papa Brown. “That’s not the point, though. Cottonwood Lodge is our home now and—”
“Beavers were here first, then,” said Chuck, thumping the muddy ground with his wide, flat tail. “So maybe it’s the otters who should move instead!”
“I’ll show you who needs to move, and I’ll even give you a hand!” growled Grandpa Bruno, swinging his right hook before Grandpa Jack could hold him back.
Twiggy and the Saw Sisters joined Chuck and started thumping their tails in steady, war-like drumbeats that were obviously intended to warn off attackers. And it appeared to work. Having promised their wives to stay out of trouble and look after the old boxers, Papa Brown and Papa Black exchanged a few mumbles and retreated, tugging Grandpa Jack and Grandpa Bruno away with them before they charged the dam.
Otter Chaos! Page 1
