by Colin Dann
And then she found them. Nestling nervously amongst the weed and trying to stay hidden: goldfish. Sleek Otter whistled with excitement. One, two, three fish about the size of carrots and with no escape route.
‘There’s only one place you can go,’ Sleek Otter told the luckless goldfish as she savoured the moment. ‘And that’s’ – crunch – ‘in here!’ She gulped them down and then searched the entire pond for anything else that was edible. There was nothing more.
Reluctantly she pulled herself out and shook a fountain of spray from her coat. She thought of the six other otters scratching for morsels along the hedge bottom. The goldfish had put new heart into her. Perhaps there were more fish to be found nearby?
Slow Otter had hardly bothered to look for food at all. He was the most pessimistic of the seven and already believed that death for all of them could only be a matter of days away. He watched the only other male grimly chewing an earthworm with an expression of distaste on his face.
‘You can’t put off the inevitable,’ he told him. ‘Bird food won’t keep us alive.’
The other male limped from a wound sustained in a fight with a young fox. ‘Maybe,’ he grunted. ‘But we can’t simply curl up and die.’
‘Might as well,’ was Slow Otter’s opinion. ‘Oh,’ he moaned, ‘my stomach’s as hollow as a rotten log.’
The four bitch otters had scattered on their own quests. One still had thoughts of returning some day to her deserted holt by Farthing stream. ‘I could slip in unnoticed,’ she told herself. ‘A single otter doesn’t make much of a splash. No-one would suspect.’ Then she thought about what an endlessly solitary existence would be like and shuddered. ‘No. That’s not sensible,’ she said mournfully. ‘I can’t go alone. I must have a companion.’ She turned to glance back at the two males. There was not much encouragement to be had there. She sighed forlornly and turned again to her foraging.
Sleek Otter left the cottage garden and found herself in a wide muddy expanse planted with vegetables. She threaded her way through these, turning every so often to make sure she wasn’t observed. Another field stretched ahead. There was no sign or smell of water in that direction. She paused, reminding herself of the little pond and its situation near a human dwelling. Perhaps that was the key to other stocks of fish. Sleek Otter decided to seek out similar habitations.
There was a collection of buildings comprising a bungalow and various outhouses within easy distance of the vegetable field. Sleek Otter ran determinedly towards it. Desperation made her bold. She pattered cautiously into a yard. Everything was quiet enough. In the darkness the unmistakable sound of swishing water reached her ears. She trotted swiftly forward to investigate. She found six huge, round metal-sided vats spaced around the yard. These were sunk deep into concrete so that the tops were about a metre above ground level. Hosepipes ran to and from each, draining and replenishing water in a continual cycle. Every so often a splash or a plunge could be heard in one of the tanks. There were things moving in them – living things. Sleek Otter was filled with excitement. She ran to the nearest container and leapt up, balancing herself on the tank’s rim.
‘Fish!’ she whistled. ‘Hordes of them!’ She watched the writhings and weavings of hundreds of plump silver trout. There were so many fish, there scarcely seemed to be a space unfilled. The water was literally alive with them. They were feeding from the remains of a scattering of pellets thrown in earlier by human hand. Sleek Otter’s hungry eyes almost popped out of her head. Here at last was real prey – unlimited prey – for the taking. She watched the trout’s darting movements as though mesmerized. She knew she must inform the other otters about this miraculous find. First, however, she meant to taste the trout for herself.
She contemplated diving headfirst into the vat, but resisted the temptation. She hooked a good-sized fish from the water which fell with a splat on to the ground where it wriggled furiously. Sleek Otter bounded after it, trapping it with her front paws and killing it with one deep bite to the neck. The flesh was pink and delicious. She ate with the heightened relish of an animal starved of its natural prey for too long.
‘This place will be the saving of us,’ she told herself afterwards. ‘I must get back to the others.’
Cautious as ever, Sleek Otter retraced her journey. Luckily the road was once more deserted and she crossed it again without any alarm. She was soon reunited with the other six fugitives. They showed no particular interest at first in her return. All of them were thoroughly dispirited.
‘Cheer up,’ Sleek Otter rallied them. ‘I’ve the best news possible. There’s a mass of fish just waiting to be eaten.’
‘Things are bad enough without your jokes,’ Slow Otter grumbled. ‘Of course there are fish, plenty of them. We know that. But exactly where they are is what we don’t know.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Sleek Otter chattered. ‘I’ve found them! Only a short journey from here. There’s more than enough for all of us. All we have to do is to take care. Believe me, it couldn’t be simpler. We must move from here and find convenient dens nearer the place with the fish where we can hide during daylight. Now, who’s ready to join me?’
The others gaped at her, still not entirely convinced by her tale. No-one spoke.
‘Well, what’s the matter with you all?’ Sleek Otter cried in exasperation. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ the lame otter said, ‘if you promise to go slowly.’
‘Can’t be too slow,’ she replied. ‘We must get under cover before dawn.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.
The bitch otters began to look excited. ‘And are there really fish … like we used to eat in the stream?’ one asked longingly.
‘Better. Bigger,’ Sleek Otter told her triumphantly.
‘Have you found a river?’ another one breathed, picturing an idyllic watercourse.
‘Er – no. Not exactly,’ Sleek Otter replied hesitantly, then added, ‘but there is water, naturally. And plenty of it.’
The six looked less eager. ‘Is it a stream then?’ Slow Otter queried.
‘No. Not a stream.’
‘A pond?’ Lame Otter suggested. ‘Like in Farthing Wood?’
‘A sort of pond, I suppose,’ Sleek Otter answered vaguely. ‘But stop your questions, do! Come and see for yourselves!’
‘Do we have any choice?’ Slow Otter muttered. ‘If we stay here, we’ll certainly perish.’
Lame Otter was weak; weaker than the rest. Like most of the others, he hadn’t eaten properly for several days. He took his time going across the first field. One of the bitch otters kept pace with him sympathetically. Sleek Otter reached the road together with the three other females. Slow Otter was some distance behind them and the other two brought up the rear.
‘Make haste,’ Sleek Otter shrilled to the stragglers. Although she was unfamiliar with roads and traffic, she sensed this strip of tarmac posed a threat. It smelt of danger, humans and sour fumes. The bitch otters loped across. Slow Otter reached the verge. They all heard a distant sound of an engine. Something approached. Frightened, Slow Otter accelerated and joined the leaders. The noise increased. Lame Otter and his companion weren’t sure whether to go on or turn back.
‘Quickly,’ urged the safe animals. They knew they must get out of sight.
Lame Otter hesitated, then continued. A motor-bike’s headlamp gleamed menacingly, its beam brightening by the second as the machine roared nearer. Lame Otter, terrified, attempted a spurt. In the middle of the road he was caught in the gleam of the powerful lamp. The motor-cyclist braked. Lame Otter limped across, but his female companion stupidly turned to run back. She was too late and the sound of screeching brakes was followed by a dull thud. The rider almost toppled and only brought his machine under control with difficulty. The female straggler was killed instantly. The rest of the otters, panic-stricken, dashed on, not even giving a backward glance to their lost companion. The motor-cyclist bent glumly over the dea
d animal. He was shaken by the accident. He had never seen otters in that locality before and wondered at the cause of their sudden appearance.
The six surviving otters scattered, unaware that their plight had become the focus of attention. Sleek Otter found that only two females remained with her. The other had dashed blindly to the nearest hiding-place. After a while the lone female found her way back to her friends. The two males lay low in a ditch. Gradually their fright subsided.
‘Now what?’ Slow Otter grunted.
‘Try to find the fish, of course,’ Lame Otter answered sharply.
‘Only the sleek one knows where they are, and we’ve lost her,’ grumbled the pessimistic dog otter.
‘Then we must track her. It’s our only hope.’
There was no time to be lost and, despite his painful limp, Lame Otter was the more resolute of the two. He picked up the bitches’ scent and began to call. After a while the two males heard a response.
‘They’re not far away,’ the lame animal remarked confidently. ‘We may yet taste fish before the night’s out.’
The four females arrived in the yard of the trout farm. Sleek Otter showed the three newcomers how she had found the water. ‘Listen! It’s unmistakable, isn’t it? And you can hear those fat fish moving around. We’ll have many a feast to make up for our fast!’
The ravenous females gulped in anticipation. ‘Show us how you catch them,’ one begged.
Sleek Otter, who was feeling noticeably stronger since her evening haul of goldfish and trout, ran towards the first tank and leapt gracefully to the top. Her balance was perfect. Moments later four large fish had been hooked from the water. The watching females fell upon these voraciously. Sleek Otter rejoined them, contenting herself with a few mouthfuls.
The trout had scarcely been swallowed when the two male otters called from nearby. They were answered at once.
‘I can smell that you’ve eaten,’ Slow Otter announced as he came into the yard. He and Lame Otter were drooling. They noticed scraps of fish bone and skin on the ground and snatched them up hastily as though afraid the females might take them.
‘Wouldn’t you prefer whole prey?’ Sleek Otter asked them archly. She was in her element, aware of her supremacy in the group.
‘What a stupid question!’ Slow Otter rasped. ‘Where are the fish? Point me in the direction.’
By way of an answer Sleek Otter repeated her performance. The glistening trout smacked on to the ground where their futile wriggles were swiftly halted. The two males gulped them down – heads, tails and bones. Nothing was left.
‘I can get you as many as you like,’ Sleek Otter boasted gleefully.
‘Huh! The great provider,’ Slow Otter mumbled ungraciously with his mouth full. ‘Don’t worry. What you can do, we can do too.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Lame Otter said to him. ‘There’s no way in which I could get to the fish.’
‘I’ll look after you,’ Sleek Otter beamed. She wanted to be appreciated by the males. ‘We can make a new start here, all of us. Our old life’s finished, but there’s no reason why our new life can’t be better.’
‘If only we’d had such fish in Farthing Wood stream,’ sighed the female who still hankered after her old home. ‘None of the otters would have lost their lives and all those awful events wouldn’t have happened.’ She brushed some fragments of food from her whiskers which were exceptionally long.
The others were silent as they digested her words. Each one thought about the fateful lack of food which had caused them to be driven out into a perilous and unknown world. Finally Slow Otter said, ‘The sky is paling. We should find shelter quickly: the humans will be astir.’
The six looked around for reliable cover. Sleek Otter had noticed a lake close to the trout farm which was fringed with reeds and other growth. It seemed the obvious place to hide in during the coming day. There would be time later to develop more permanent dens. She led them to it and the otters tunnelled into the vegetation, weary but at least no longer hungry. For a while they talked about the extraordinary bounty of fish. Although they couldn’t, of course, understand the concept of a trout farm, they all knew the fish were where they were because of human intent. They knew that the fish must be of value to humans, which meant they – the otters – must exercise extreme care. It was obvious to them that their interference in the humans’ plans must not be discovered, otherwise they would be in real danger.
‘We need to make sure there’s not a trace of our coming,’ Sleek Otter summarized. ‘It would perhaps be wise to bring the fish to eat here, or wherever we settle eventually.’
‘Yes, that’s sensible,’ Lame Otter agreed. ‘We don’t want to attract the slightest attention to ourselves.’
Ironically that is exactly what the otters had done. News of the sighting in an area well away from their Farthing Wood habitat reached the local wildlife groups. These were puzzled and concerned. Why had the animals left their usual territory so suddenly? What had caused them to stray into an area of human population? An investigation into this mystery became vital. While the otters were using every ounce of caution, interested parties were combing the area around Farthing Wood for a clue to their present location. It was now generally accepted that there had been some kind of assault upon them by other animals – the dead otters were proof of that – and that, to escape further slaughter, the remaining otters had fled. It was the business of the conservation groups to secure these animals again, return them to their home territory, and ensure that they were properly protected there.
The inhabitants of Farthing Wood naturally knew none of this. None of them realized the chain of events that had been set in motion by the foxes’ attack. Only Sage Hedgehog sensed impending disaster. His words, in the main, fell on deaf ears. Spring broods of young voles, shrews and fieldmice increased the little creatures’ numbers dramatically. From owls to weasels, none of the predators went short of food. Rabbits, too, were breeding prolifically, so that the foxes’ diet was a particularly good one.
Stout Fox and his vixen were the most skilled rabbit hunters, the vixen especially. ‘You have a talent all your own,’ Stout Fox told her after he had watched her admiringly for the umpteenth time. ‘I can’t think why you lay low while the otters made such nuisances of themselves. You could have shown them a thing or two.’
‘I didn’t lie low,’ she corrected him. ‘I simply kept apart. All that fuss! You were overawed, all of you, by their antics. Silly beasts, they only deserved to be ignored.’
They trotted home companionably in the moonlight. Ahead of them, they saw Lean Vixen flit like a shadow between two tall trees. The fox pairs didn’t encounter one another very often. They preferred not to mingle, now that the fighting was done. But this time Lean Vixen caught the scent of the other two and turned towards them.
‘You are well?’ Stout Fox asked her, noticing the improvement in her appearance.
‘Yes. And you?’ Lean Vixen returned, assessing the big male’s fitness.
‘Well too,’ came the reply. ‘But some animals seem sickly.’
The lean vixen’s ears pricked up. She remembered the trail of disease she had strewn in the path of the otters. ‘What’s the reason?’ she asked.
‘Who knows? It could be anything. But sometimes I have a strange feeling that the Wood itself is sickly.’
Lean Vixen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Has that old windbag of a hedgehog got to you?’
‘Nothing to do with him,’ Stout Fox declared. ‘There was disease in the Wood, though, and it may still be around.’
For some days the supply of trout sustained all six otters without interruption. Sleek Otter brought food for the lame male as she had promised. Slow Otter and the other three females were able to catch their own. They soon became proficient at jumping to the edge of the tanks, balancing, and whipping out with their paws as much fish as they needed. Slow Otter became increasingly irritated by the way the lame male was pampered. The six otters were livin
g in unnaturally close proximity to each other and there were bound to be ructions sooner or later.
‘Why can’t he fetch his own food?’ he complained, casting a withering glance at Lame Otter who was accepting the latest catch as though it were his right.
‘You know why,’ Sleek Otter answered quietly. She was developing a sort of motherly fondness for the lame male.
‘We others put ourselves at risk every time we go to the Metal Ponds,’ Slow Otter muttered grudgingly. The ‘Metal Ponds’ was their name for the tanks. ‘It’s all very well lying around waiting to be fed like some drone.’
‘I don’t lie around,’ Lame Otter defended himself. ‘I roam here and there. I try to do for myself what I can, but I can’t catch enough in the open water to feed myself properly. You’ve swum in it. You know there’s almost nothing to catch.’
‘Oh yes,’ Slow Otter sneered, ‘but I’m sure you prefer being dependent. It’s such an easy life.’
‘Easy life? How would you like to have this injury? I’m stuck with it whether I like it or not. It’ll never heal.’
Slow Otter’s grumbling subsided, only to return on another occasion. There was no doubt that all the females showed a preference for Lame Otter, partly because of his condition with which they sympathized, but also because he had a nicer nature. Slow Otter was jealous. One night his resentment boiled over.
It was the fifth night of the raids on the trout stocks. He and the four bitch otters pattered quietly across the yard, as usual Sleek Otter was first on to the tank. She caught her fish and two of the other females followed. Then Slow Otter and the last female went together. Slow Otter was eager, but the female was faster than he was. She sprang up to the rim, leaving the male on the ground seething with impatience. He trotted up and down, unable to keep still, glaring up balefully every so often at the female who seemed to be taking longer than normal.
‘What’s keeping you?’ he growled. ‘I’m famished.’
The bitch otter said, ‘I’ll be finished in a moment. I just want to find a bigger fish for the lame one. I don’t think he’s getting enough to eat.’
