Otter Chaos! (3 page)

When the Browns finally arrived at their new home, they were a lot lighter than when they left, having first lost a raft of food, lost and found Grandma Maple and then lost everything else in a cloud of angry bees. But as they hauled themselves on to the sprawling island of twigs and branches that was Cottonwood Lodge, the family knew it had all been worth it.

“Now, don't worry about our stuff,” panted Papa, standing at the entrance to the den and looking rather bedraggled. “We will find new bedding and build up our stores again in no time.”

“The important thing is that we made it here in one piece,” added Mama, staggering up to join her husband and wringing out her tail. “Now let's catch our breath before we explore our new home!”

“HOORAY!” cheered the Browns, and they collapsed in a heap.

Moments later the otter family bustled through the main tunnel of the den in much the same way as they always did, with squeals of “OUCH!” and “EEEK!” and “OI! GET OFF MY HEAD!” But once they had all squeezed through the entrance, Cottonwood Lodge opened up into a spacious reception chamber, with a freshwater pool and mounds of moss for lounging around on. The chamber was lit through gaps in the twigs above and led off into many other tunnels, into which the Browns scampered excitedly to explore.

“Look at the size of these bed chambers!” gasped Mama, dashing with Papa from one room to the next, patting the mud-caked walls as if she couldn't believe her eyes. “The pups really can have one each!”

“I take it we'll be getting rid of the beaver droppings?” said Grandma Maple, poking her head in after them and frowning at the mess on the floor.

“And there's a whiff of wee that's making my eyes water,” said Grandpa Bruno, flapping a paw in front of his nose. “Though it doesn't smell like any beaver I've ever encountered.”

“It does need a good clean, but I think it's wonderful!” said Mama, kissing Papa on the nose and giving him a cuddle. And because the grandparents were also secretly thrilled despite their gripes and grumbles, they did the same.

The four of them made their way back to the central chamber just as the pups returned from their own explorations. The little ones were wide-eyed and breathless, exhilarated by what they'd discovered.

“There's a mooring pad and a log slide at the back!” yelled Woody, jumping up and down with excitement.

“And there are stepping stones leading all the way to the bank,” gasped Coco. “So we don't always have to swim outside and get our fur wet needlessly!”

“There's loads of storage for food!” said Beanie, grinning broadly.

“And we've chosen our rooms!” cried Nutmeg and Chestnut, who ran out of two different tunnels and started dancing together, holding paws. “And they're so far apart we won't be able to hear or smell each other at all!”

“So you all like your new home?” asked Mama and Papa.

“WE LOVE IT!” cheered the otters, and they all joined in with Nutmeg and Chestnut, holding each other's paws and dancing round the pool. Mama danced with Papa, Grandma Maple danced with Grandpa Bruno, Woody danced with Beanie, while Coco danced by herself, flicking her fur dreamily and trying to keep it completely dry.

The Browns were so busy dancing and laughing and being happy with their brand-new den, that no one noticed a large dark figure stomping through the entrance tunnel, snorting indignantly at the sight of them.

“Oh, no, you don't!” it growled. “This is
my
den!”

he Brown family stopped dancing and abruptly froze like musical statues, and then all turned their heads to see a big black otter looming in the entrance to the lodge. He looked very cross, snorting through his bristly black nostrils.

“Did you hear me?” he growled. “This is
my
den!”

“I'm sorry, but I think you've made a mistake,” said Papa, stepping out in front of his family to settle what was obviously just a big misunderstanding. “I found this den yesterday and staked my claim by scratching here and here,” he said, pointing at carved marks in a tree branch and neat little scrapes in the mud walls. “And if you take a sniff you'll detect a dot of musk and wee-wee over by the entrance there.”

The black otter sniffed and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Well, I found it yesterday too and drenched the whole place from top to bottom with my own musk and wee-wee, scenting every nook and cranny so everyone knows it's mine,” he said, advancing into the chamber and rising tall on his hind legs. “Go on, take a whiff! It's pungent stuff and proves that I am the rightful owner.”

The Browns all sniffed the unmistakable scent and screwed up their noses. What they had believed to be beaver wee or a rotting rodent, was indeed otter musk, albeit a particularly foul vintage.

“That horrid stink definitely wasn't here when I discovered the den yesterday,” said Papa, rising up on his back legs too. “Which only proves that I got here first, and I have a whole family to look after.”

“So do I,” said the black otter, and he whistled through his claws.

Eight more black otters in various shapes and sizes immediately scurried down the tunnel and into the central chamber. Mama Black was first, looking very displeased at the sight of another family in her new reception and occasional spa room. She was followed by Grandpa Black and six pups, the youngest of which wriggled its way to the front of the family group.

The Browns and the Blacks faced each other across the freshwater pool. Neither was prepared to budge from their new home and all were wondering what would happen next and who would make the first move.

No one expected that it would be little Woody Brown, who pushed his way forward between Chestnut and Nutmeg and jumped in the middle of the pond, waving his paws excitedly.

“Sooty!” gasped Woody, splashing over to his best friend, who just happened to be the youngest pup in the family of black otters.

“Woody!” gasped Sooty, dashing forward and jumping in the pond too.

The rest of the otters, black and brown alike, watched with wide-eyed bewilderment as the two young pups hugged and held paws and began bouncing up and down with glee. They were so excited to see each other they didn't even realise that everyone else was getting soaked.

“Enough!” growled a gruff and grizzly voice from the back of the crowd as Grandpa Black came strutting forward. The old otter was big and burly with grey and white whiskers, though no less imposing for his age. “We are not leaving this den!”

“Neither are we!” growled a voice from the back of the Browns.

Grandpa Bruno barged to the front, all puffed up to match his black-furred opponent. The two otters circled the pond, sizing each other up. It was a curious dance, full of menace, that was nothing like the happy rejoicing of their grandsons, and both families were taken aback by the old otters' strange behaviour. Things got even stranger as the grandpas jumped into the pool, still facing each other, and began to skip from paw to paw, bobbing and weaving like deranged herons. As they got close, Grandpa Bruno suddenly froze, leant forward and squinted at the black otter's face.

“Big Bad Jack!” he growled, eyes flaring with recognition. “After all these years, you dare to show your big ugly face around these parts again.”

“Well, if it isn't my old boxing partner, Bruno Brown,” scoffed the black otter. “Knocking you out once obviously wasn't enough if you're coming back for more.”

“You wouldn't have beaten me the first time if you'd fought fair,” growled Grandpa Brown. “It should have been me that won the championship and you know it.”

“Still crying foul, I see,” snorted Grandpa Black.

“Still cheating honest folk out of what's rightfully theirs, I see,” growled Bruno.

The two otters went nose to nose, snorting through their nostrils, grey whiskers bristling together.

“Enough!” yelled Grandma Maple, nudging forward and grasping Grandpa Bruno's paw. She tugged with all her strength until she managed to drag her fuming husband away from his black-furred rival. “I've lived through this silly rivalry once, and I'm not about to do it again,” she mumbled, leading Grandpa Brown to the exit.

“Huh?” said everyone else.

randpa was a boxer?” asked Woody Brown, scratching his head as his family followed the old otters outside to find them standing on the riverbank. They might as well have said Grandpa was a ballet dancer for all the sense it made because all he ever did was sleep and moan.

“Some things are best left in the past,” said Grandma Maple, sitting on a log and fanning her face. The old otter seemed more troubled than her husband at the unexpected arrival. “Your grandpa doesn't like to talk about it, so we should respect his—”

“I was not just a boxer, young Woody,” sighed Grandpa, sitting down next to his wife and holding her paw, his eyes glazing over as he recalled his glory days. “I was a super heavyweight champion, four years undefeated! ‘Bruising Bruno Brown' they called me.”

“And Big Bad Jack was your arch-enemy?” asked Woody.

“No,” Grandpa said sadly as the mists of time descended and all of his memories came flooding back. “‘
Jumping
Jack Black', as they called him back then, was my best friend in the whole wide world…”

 

After a long, lazy day of chasing fish and skimming stones, young Bruno Brown and Jack Black basked on the riverbank, talking excitedly about the start of the new boxing season. They were not only the very best of friends, having grown up together on opposite banks of the same river, they were also otter boxing champions in their own weight classes. Bruising Bruno Brown was the reigning super heavyweight, and Jumping Jack Black was the reigning heavyweight, a class below his friend. They had climbed the ranks of the Otter Boxing Federation together from pups. They trained and sparred together along the riverbanks and supported each other in pursuit of their sporting dreams. The two young otters were destined for stardom.

“I can't wait to get back in the ring,” said Bruno. “It has been a brilliant summer, but I'm itching to start competing again. If I manage to defend my title, I'll be the first otter to win the super heavyweight tournament five years in a row.”

“You'll wipe the floor with all of them,” laughed Jack. “There's not another otter along the whole river who's as fast on his paws as you. Except me, of course.”

“True,” laughed Bruno. “It's a good job we'll never have to fight each other. We're so well matched in speed and strength, I can't even guess who would win!”

“Well, luckily we'll never have to find out,” said Jack, hurling another large fish in his mouth and rubbing his big, full belly. “What with us being in different weight classes and me being so much lighter,” he added, and burped like a foghorn.

The two friends laughed loudly, happy in the knowledge that their boxing careers were on the up, and relieved that they would not be forced to compete against each other.

Yet, when it came to the vital weigh-in before the first bouts of the tournament, there was a huge surprise in store for both of them. Bruising Bruno weighed the same, but Jumping Jack Black tipped the scales out of the heavyweight class and into super heavyweight. His boxing name changed to Big Bad Jack and the new weight class meant that, if they both stayed long enough in the tournament, the friends would eventually have to fight each other.

Bruno and Jack made a pledge that day that whatever the outcome they would remain friends and would cheer each other on. But as they fought and kept winning their matches, Bruising Bruno and Big Bad Jack spent less and less time together. It was around then that Bruno met a beautiful young otter named Maple…

 

“Oh, let's not dredge up the past,” said Grandma Maple, shooing the imaginary mists of time away with her flapping paws. “It's all so long ago, there's no need to open old wounds.”

“Aw, tell us what happened, Grandpa!” begged the young otters. The Brown pups were all gathered round their grandparents, lying on their bellies, utterly engrossed in the story. Their parents were just as curious, since neither had any idea that the old otters had led such a thrilling life together.

“It was the last night of the tournament,” said Grandpa, as the mists of time descended once again. “Jack and I had won all of our bouts over many weeks. We cleared the quarter-finals and semi-finals, and were warming up on opposite sides of the river before the final fight that would decide who would become the super heavyweight champion…”

 

“Promise me you'll be all right,” said Maple, pacing up and down nervously while Bruno skipped and cross-skipped with a length of rope. “I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you...”

“I'll be fine,” Bruno said confidently. “I know Jack's moves better than he knows them himself. By the end of the night I'll be the first ever five-time super heavyweight champion.”

“Then what?” sighed Maple, sitting on a log.

Bruno stopped skipping and frowned. He wasn't used to having anyone worry about him getting hurt. The otter tossed the rope away and held Maple's paws within his gloves.

“I'll be fine,” he said again. “And when I win this tournament, the Otter Boxing Federation will take me on a grand boxing tour up and down the river, and you can come with me. We'll be living the high life, Maple Moo!”

The crowd was becoming restless for the match to begin. Otters squeaked, river rats shrieked and beavers beat their tails. Bruno nuzzled with his lovely Maple and then headed for the ring where Big Bad Jack was already waiting, biding his time before—

 

“Your grandpa lost the match and that was the end of that,” said Grandma Maple abruptly, breaking the spell of the story. “Now, is it lunchtime yet? I for one am feeling a bit peckish.”

“Aw, Grandma!” groaned the young otters.

“Your grandmother is right,” said Mama Brown. “We know that Grandpa didn't win the match, so he probably doesn't want to relive it all over again.”

“
I didn't lose!
” said Grandpa Bruno, standing up and shaking a fist in the air. “I was robbed of my title by a scoundrel who pretended to be my friend. And I think our young Woody needs to know the truth about the otters he's mixing with. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. It was the final fight…”

 

Bruising Bruno Brown entered the ring and stepped up to his opponent. Before the river-rat referee could signal the start of the fight, Big Bad Jack reached out to shake his friend's paw. Bruno was only too pleased to put their friendship before everything else, just like they had promised in their pact, but when Jack let go, he wiped his glove over his head, slicking down his fur. Bruno had never seen his friend do this before, so he looked down at his own glove to see that it was glistening in the moonlight. A sniff confirmed that it was covered in fish oil, but before he could do or say anything, the referee rang the bell for Round One.

With oil on his right glove, Bruising Bruno couldn't throw a decent punch without it sliding off-target and Big Bad Jack's slicked-down fur made him untouchable. Bruno was a great fighter, but his failure to connect a single blow to his opponent meant it was only a matter of time before Jack beat him down.

And then Jack threw an uppercut that hit Bruno square on the jaw and lifted him off his feet. The brown otter sailed through the air as if in slow motion, and landed flat on his back with an enormous thud. The next thing he remembered was the knockout count from the ratty referee and Jack Black lifting his arms in triumph, the crowd cheering and chanting his name.

 

“And that was the last boxing tournament I ever competed in,” sighed Grandpa Bruno. “Big Bad Jack became a sporting celebrity and went on tour with the Otter Boxing Federation, while I stayed at home to take care of your grandma, who I found out after the match was expecting pups in the spring.”

The Brown family were quiet and thoughtful at the end of Grandpa's story. They didn't know what to say to the old otter who had lived such an amazing life.

“Where can I get some of that fish oil?” asked Coco, who cared mostly about adding a really nice sheen and an additional layer of waterproofing to her grooming regime.

“From fish, of course,” laughed Nutmeg and Chestnut.

“Oh, yes!” chuckled Coco.

“Why did you stop boxing, Grandpa?” asked Beanie, who was much more sensitive than her older siblings. “Could you not enter the next tournament and win back your title?”

“Oh, by the time next season started I had a young family and, without Jack to train with, I fell out of shape,” he said, and then sat up and visibly brightened. “But now I have you lot and wouldn't change that for all the titles in the world.”

The Brown pups jumped up and gave their grandpa a big hug.

Woody felt bad that his friend's grandpa had done such a terrible thing to his grandpa, and couldn't help wondering whether Sooty was capable of tricking him just so
he
could win a competition.

His thoughts were disturbed by a loud crunching sound. It was coming from Beanie, who was hungry after the story and was munching noisily on her snacks. This in itself was not unusual. It was something else that made the young pup curious.

“Where did you get those from?” whispered Woody.

Beanie's cheeks were bulging and her mouth was too full to speak, so she lifted a paw and pointed to a group of rocks on the riverbank close to the den.