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For Liz Szabla,

with oceans of thanks

It is a happy talent

to know how to play.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

One

the queen of play

Monterey Bay, California

and environs

not (exactly) guilty

In their defense,

sharks

do not (as a rule) eat

otters.

True, sharks sometimes

taste them

by mistake, leaving

frowning bites

or the jagged clue

of a tooth or two.

But then,

in fairness,

nobody’s perfect.

too late

Say an empty-bellied

great white shark

is enticed by

a long, sleek swimmer,

a sea lion, perhaps.

(Big fans of

blubber, sharks.)

Curious, the shark

moves in for a nibble,

only to discover he’s

sampling a surfer (oops),

or, more likely,

a member of that most

charming branch

of the weasel family,

the southern sea otter.

You’ve been there,

haven’t you,

in the cafeteria line

or the breakfast buffet,

taking a chance on

some new food?

Grab, gulp, grimace:

You spit the offending

item into a napkin,

no harm, no foul.

Same goes for the shark,

who quickly

reconsiders and

retreats.

Of course, by then it’s often

too late for the surfer.

And almost always

too late for the otter.

hunger

One such shark

is prowling the waters

this very morning.

It’s daybreak,

cloudless and shell pink,

and for a moment the bay

seems to blush.

There it is:

his dorsal fin,

cutting through the

calm waves.

The shark is an adolescent—

a marine tween—

streamlined and strong,

but small for his age,

and far from his usual

haunts today.

His last meal,

a ray and two puny turtles,

was three days ago—

pathetic, by any measure.

No need to worry.

Hunger has a way

of focusing the mind.

If there is food

to be found, rest assured:

He will find it.

Otter #156

Not far from the shark,

Otter #156 floats on her back,

forepaws and flippers

held aloft,

soaking up sun

like tiny solar panels.

Tucked in a pocket of skin

under her arm

is a favorite rock,

just right for opening

mussels and clams.

She has seen more

than a few sharks in

her three years,

has even seen them

kill.

But right now her only concern

is what to eat for breakfast.

numbers and names

Friends call #156

“Odder,”

but humans prefer

their numbers.

They count cards and sheep,

errors and at-bats,

minutes and blessings.

Here in the bay,

they count

otters, too.

Squiggles and Splash

There’s a reason

for those numbers.

Endearing names

enchant the public,

luring humans too close.

Numbers are aloof,

but names are sticky,

fusing rescuer to rescued,

scientist to subject,

human to otter.

(And it’s not hard

to fall in love with

an otter pup.)

It’s a shame, really.

Think of the possibilities:

Squiggles and Splash

and Potter and Noodle!

Otto and Oswald

and Ozzie and Obi!

Still, it’s better this way.

These otters need

all the help

they can get.

questions

Her mother called her “Odder”

from the moment

she was born.

Something about the way

the little pup never settled,

something about the way

her eyes were always

full of questions.

to eat or not to eat

A few feet away

from Odder,

her favorite companion,

Kairi, drifts on her back,

aimless as a log.

Kairi, two years older

than Odder, has

shiny ebony fur.

Odder, smaller

and more agile,

has a deep brown coat

and caramel-colored head.

Play,

Odder wants to know,

or eat?

First we eat,

then we play,

answers Kairi,

who is always practical,

a cautious sort.

It’s annoying,

but when you’re

a free spirit like Odder,

teaming with a wise

and solid anchor

is never a bad idea.

First we play,

then we eat,

says Odder.

She gives her friend

a soft nose-nudge

and dives through quiet water

thick with eelgrass.

communication

When you cannot text or email,

whisper a secret or

shout a protest,

when words are not your way,

how do you

share what you know?

Otters

whistle and whine,

snarl and hiss,

blow and snort.

And don’t forget

sight and scent,

and most of all touch—

nudges and licks,

head butts and gentle bites.

Every species has its tricks.

underwater

Underwater

there’s no need for noise,

for grunts or squeals or chirps.

Not when you can twist

and pretzel and weave.

Not when you’ve turned

frolic into art.

ballet

The chase begins,

through the marshy shallows

of Elkhorn Slough,

toward the icy,

deep waters of the bay—

in, out, up, down,

pirouettes and lifts and dips,

a bubbly ballet.

Far enough,

Kairi says,

when they pause at last.

Their small, smooth heads

could be slick rocks

in a riverbed.

Odder backflips,

disappears,

pops up

a few feet away.

Silly minnow,

she teases,

just a little bit farther,

and the ballet

moves on to Act Two.

the slough

A slough is heaven

for an otter—

placid and swampy,

with easy pickings.

Just a few feet down

and voilà: your meal.

Of course there are more

humans around—

sightseeing boats,

kayaks and canoes,

everyone anxious to glimpse

the otters and sea lions,

the regal great blue herons

and double-crested cormorants,

the comical pelicans.

the bay

Beyond the slough

lies Monterey Bay,

a whole different animal,

a watery whale,

huge and intimidating,

but breathtaking

beneath the surface:

Kelp forests weave

green blankets

while sun shafts cut

like blades.

Some say the food

is better there—

succulent crabs if you’re willing

to work for them—

but the dangers give many

second thoughts.

Not Odder, though.

She loves a good crab.

daily schedule

An otter’s life goes like this:

eat

groom

sleep

eat

groom

sleep

eat

groom

sleep

but always there is time for a bit of

deep diving

wave chasing

tail spinning

smooth gliding

bubble blowing

FUN.

the queen of play

Nobody plays like

Odder plays.

Nobody has

her moves.

She loves to roughhouse,

can be pushy and eager,

too unruly for some,

but watching her

work the water

is a joy.

She doesn’t just swim to the bottom,

she dive-bombs.

She doesn’t just somersault,

she triple-doughnuts.

She doesn’t just ride the waves,

she makes them.

diet

The shark, meanwhile,

is closer to the mouth of the slough,

still hunting,

a soundless ocean ghost.

He can eat hugely—gorge,

then go for days unfed.

But a sea otter is always eating.

(Luckily, her belly doubles

as a dinner table.)

Without the swaddling blubber

of a seal or whale,

she must consume

a quarter of her weight

each day—

abalones and sea urchins,

octopuses and sea stars,

mussels and crabs and clams,

like a carb-loading marathoner,

like a hummingbird sipping nectar

dawn to dusk.

Jaws

No one pities sharks.

There are no great white Bambis,

and that’s to be expected,

given that grim smile,

those thousands of

triangular teeth,

row upon

row upon

row.

There are other perks, though:

the way the ocean seems

to part at their approach,

and don’t forget the

Hollywood factor—

a movie like Jaws

could never be made

about otters.

cute

Still, it’s hard,

if you’re an ocean resident,

not to resent otters,

their easy popularity,

the way they

woo the crowds.

They are, it’s been said,

the champions of cute:

those eyes like a doe’s,

the expressive whiskers,

the gold medal

aquatic gymnastics.

And being photogenic

does help with memes, with

keeping the fans

engaged.

Only the foolish

want selfies

with a shark.

kayaker

Odder twists and sees

what she has already

heard and scented:

a human slicing through

the small waves,

half his body tucked

in a hard shell shaped

like a giant sardine.

His awkward churning

—a paddle for paws—

is painful to watch.

She loves kayakers,

admires their hopeless desire

to be what they cannot:

creatures of the water.

Her.

She has visited several,

curious about their

sweating foreheads

and water bottles,

the binoculars they use

for eyes.

The kayaker slows,

and Odder slips underwater,

coming up close enough

to see his white teeth

and smell his exertion.

wary

Odder!

It’s Kairi, calling

urgently,

always the killjoy,

ever wary.

Odder!

she calls again.

Keep your distance!

The kayaker makes sounds—

kind ones, Odder decides.

(As it happens,

she has heard her share

of angry humans.)

Still, she does as Kairi

has commanded,

and with a stroke of her tail,

she vanishes from view.

scolding

Sorry,

Odder tells Kairi.

Sometimes I forget

to be careful.

Kairi paddles in a lazy circle.

One of these days

they will put you in a cage

and I will never see you again.

One of these days

you’ll end up at

Highwater for good.

You worry too much, Kairi,

Odder says.

Why

do you get so close

to them?

Kairi asks.

Just curious,

Odder answers.

They helped me once,

don’t forget.

Odder submerges her head,

then lifts and shakes it,

and droplets catch the sun.

Highwater

The otters call it “Highwater,”

the aquarium perched

above the edge of the bay.

More land than water,

more air than ocean,

the accommodations are solid,

if you happen to be a

water-dweller.

The staff is first-rate,

the food to die for,

house rules enforced with vigor:

predators kept away from prey,

separated by thick walls of glass.

Not a bad place to stay,

all things considered, although

once you’ve checked in,

departing can be difficult.

troublemaker

Odder has been

in trouble before.

She has a soft spot for humans—

understandable,

given the way she was raised,

considering all she was taught.

So what if she investigates

a dock or sandbar

from time to time?

So what if she nudges a scuba diver

to say hello?

So what if she tries to leap

onto a kayak or canoe

to better know her story—

is that so wrong?

Yes,

say the other otters,

Kairi, too,

and judging by the way

certain humans

trap and relocate her

to quiet waters away from trouble

whenever she gets too friendly

(eight times and counting),

maybe her friends

have a point.

motherly advice

Odder doesn’t remember much

about her mother.

Pups are with their moms

for five months or so,

a year at most,

but Odder wasn’t

that lucky.

Still, she does recall

one piece of advice her mother

used to repeat:

Stay away from sharks.

Stay away from humans.

Stay away from all

that you don’t understand.

Back then,

Odder didn’t know what a human was,

and she’d never seen a shark,

but she got the drift, all right:

Be afraid of the world,

my daughter.

Kairi would have liked

Odder’s mother.

fast enough, slow enough

Near the entrance to the slough

the shark hesitates.

He scents the otters, but

doesn’t see them clearly,

not yet.

His sight is no match

for his glorious

sense of smell.

They are captivating,

blood-rich,

fast enough to

be a decent challenge,

slow enough

to make an easy meal.

tell me a story

Race you to the Drop?

Odder asks,

glancing at the point

where the slough empties

into the far deeper bay.

I’m tired,

Kairi says.

I don’t feel like racing.

Tell me a story instead.

You’re just trying

to distract me,

Odder replies.

You know me too well,

says Kairi.

scary stories

Tell me about the Fifty again,

says Kairi,

because it is a scary story,

and scary stories are the best,

at least when the sun is out

and the waters are calm.

Odder shimmies and bounces.

But everyone knows that story,

she says,

and she’s right:

The story of the Fifty

is every otter’s story.

For a moment,

Kairi seems to be shivering,

her eyes glazed and unseeing.

Kairi?

Odder asks.

Are you all right?

Kairi blinks and

shakes her head.

I’m fine.

Just a little tired.

Odder hesitates.

Kairi hasn’t been herself

the past few days.

She’s seemed sluggish and

distracted.

You’re sure?

Remember when Amaya had

the shaking sickness?

I’m fine,

Kairi says firmly.

The Fifty, please.

Odder dives,

resurfaces,

spirals.

The Fifty,

she begins,

and Kairi clasps her forepaws together

and falls silent.

The Fifty

Once, in times past,

when the ancients lived,

the ocean was filled

with our kind,

Odder says.

But that changed.

Not so very long ago,

there were only fifty of us,

and that was all.

Because of sharks,

Kairi interrupts.

Not really.

Odder twists and twirls.

Not then.

Because of sickness,

Kairi says.

Some.

Odder spins and rolls.

But mostly

that came later.

Because why, then?

Kairi asks.

Odder glances at

the faraway kayaker,

now just a drifting dot,

so small he might be

an egret or

a marsh wren.

Because of them,

she says, and

then she plunges

under the waves.

deep dive

A sea otter can stay underwater

for six or seven minutes,

and that is what Odder does.

It’s fun

to build suspense.

the end

When Odder blasts

back to air and sun,

her friend is waiting impatiently.

Now tell me the rest,

Kairi demands,

still backfloating.

There is no rest.

Odder somersaults.

There were fifty,

and now there are more,

three thousand, perhaps.

And we are part of the more?

Kairi asks.

All of us, yes.

We all come from

the Fifty.

Odder rubs her nose.

The end.

I liked it better

the last time you told it,

Kairi complains.

Stories change,

says Odder

as she zooms past Kairi.

Now let’s find us

some breakfast,

my friend.

the sighting

The intriguing scent

becomes something more

for the shark.

There they are above him

on the surface,

long, dark silhouettes

with webbed feet

and muscular tails.

He’s glimpsed some

before, but never this close.

They are sinuous,

but not eel-sleek.

They don’t shimmer in the

way of a mackerel or a ray.

Wouldn’t sea lions

be bigger than this?

Maybe these are young sea lions.

Babies, even.

They move surprisingly well,

with a certain elegance.

But they’re no match

for him.

One is slower,

and that will be his target.

No reason to expend

extra energy

(although what a feast

two would make).

He feels

the sharp complaint of hunger

and presses on.

the fin

Just a little farther, Odder says,

as the beguiling, wild song

of the bay calls to her.

Kairi is right beside her.

Please, Odder,

she says,

let’s go back,

and Odder hears her fear.

We’ve gone too far.

The sun sparks the waves

as the wind picks up,

and then Odder sees it

and her heart lurches:

gliding,

glimmering,

almost beautiful:

the dorsal fin

of a great white shark.

speed

A few thrusts of the shark’s powerful tail,

and he’ll have them, easy as that.

Sometimes even he is shocked

by his own speed.

the chase

Odder lets loose

a high-pitched scream,

though Kairi needs no warning.

She is already churning the water,

and Odder sees

the terror in her friend’s eyes,

and both otters move

like they have never moved,

but he is on them already.

Odder can feel him

slice the surf

in two, she

can smell his

hunger.

turning back

Odder knows

this is all because of her,

because she is reckless

and wrongheaded

and curious

to a fault.

She hears a strangled cry,

and turns to see

the shark has nipped

her friend’s tail,

as the awful stench of blood

blooms in the water.

A full-grown white would have

devoured them both

by now, but

this shark must be young,

inexperienced, or confused.

Kairi is slower,

there is only one

thing to do, and so

Odder twists,

turns back,

passes her

wounded friend,

heading

directly toward those

jagged rows of teeth,

those unfeeling eyes.

confusion

It was just a small bite, but the hint

of blood makes the shark

bold. Some part of him

wonders if he’s made a mistake—

the taste, perhaps—

but it’s too late, he’s pure

muscle and instinct now.

As he moves in for the kill,

he’s met with sheer movement,

flipping and twisting,

an eruption of bubbles,

the reek of fear.

It’s under him,

behind him,

hitting his flank—

how could it be, but

it is—

it’s one of them,

not the one he nipped,

the other—

hurling herself at him.

It’s impossible. Never

has he seen anything

move like this.

He tries to focus

on the wounded one,

the slower animal

heading away,

but this other frenzied

thing,

whatever it is,

won’t let him be.

trapped

And so he

veers

and there

she is

and his mouth

is open

wide and

waiting and

clamp

snap

gnash

she is

trapped

in his jaws

where

she

belongs.

beyond

Of course she’s felt pain,

but this is new,

a black void

beyond hurting,

beyond understanding.

oops

Instantly the shark knows

this is wrong,

all wrong.

His jaws

unlock,

his head

jerks,

his prey

floats free.

It’s all fur and bone—

so much hair!—

and not even a hint

of blubber.

A ray would have

been more satisfying,

a rockfish, even.

It’s no sea lion,

that’s for sure.

The taste is vile,

and he’s even lost a

few teeth,

not that it matters.

They pop anew

unbidden.

Still,

what a waste of time,

and good thing

his embarrassing failure

went unwitnessed

by other sharks.

the beach

Perhaps she is swimming,

or perhaps she is dreaming,

because why else would she be

moving like this,

jerkily,

uncertainly,

trailing the smell of

her own impending death?

Somewhere, Kairi

might be calling to her—

this way, this way, this way!

The dizziness

dulls the pain,

makes it seem to belong

to some other animal.

Advice bubbles up,

wisdom gleaned

from older otters—

head for shore,

blood in the water is an invitation,

move as little as necessary,

conserve energy—

and so she

struggles toward

a nearby patch of beach.

Is she imagining it,

or didn’t she once find

salvation on

land?

hauled out

“Hauled out,” it’s called,

and indeed it is a haul,

flopping forty-five pounds

onto solid land when you

are meant for water.

And yet Odder does it,

despite the gaping wound on her belly,

perhaps because she knows

she has done it before,

even as she’s drained of blood

and hope.

A gull lands inches

away, preening,

wondering if there

will be something to

gain from such a mess.

Odder blinks. The sun

is so good,

so kind—

how hard it would be to

die at night!

She’s not mad

at the gull, doesn’t even

blame the shark.

She’s seen enough to know

that this is how life is,

and this is how death comes.

retreat

The shark moves on

into deeper waters,

a bit wiser but

still famished,

still wearing the scent

of his victims.

how to rescue a stranded otter

Be wary.

Their river cousins switch

between land and water

like kids at the beach,

but sea otters

prefer the surf.

If you see one where humans tread,

keep your distance.

It might just be an inquisitive sort,

taking a breather,

or it could be sick or hurt

or weakened by hunger.

Everyone will want

to touch the otter—

that fur is the stuff of legend,

and those puppy eyes

pull like a magnet.

Remember, though:

Those jaws are

steel-trap cruel.

Call someone,

someone who knows what to do,

or at least what not to do.

Keep dogs away,

and others who will want

to get too close,

who don’t understand

that while you wait for

help to come,

death may be

en route, too.

sounds

Odder’s eyes

will not open,

her head will not move,

it is all she can do to breathe

because every breath burns,

but she can, at least,

still listen.

She has created quite a

commotion, it seems.

Voices surge,

people shuffle,

tourists lean in close

and click their cameras.

Gulls cluster and gossip,

enjoying the chaos,

because chaos means

dropped food—

a fry, perhaps,

or even an ice cream cone.

Dogs send out throaty alerts

and a baby howls,

while waves break on the beach,

whispering to Odder

and Odder alone:

Let go, let go, let go.

help arrives

When rescue comes at last,

Odder recognizes

some of the voices,

and her heart clenches

with relief and regret.

She is going back.

She has failed,

though maybe this time

it’s already too late, maybe

she will die

before she even gets there.

(She’s already been given a chance,

one more than most.)

In any case, she accepts

her fate. If Kairi survives,

there’s that,

at least.

The hands are gentle,

the gloves familiar.

Hello, old friend,

someone says,

and though she doesn’t

understand the words,

might never understand them,

the music of grief

and disappointment

is not lost

on her.

phantoms

They move her carefully,

but even if she wanted to,

she’s too weak to protest.

The bites on her belly,

deep half-moons,

have left her helpless.

The cage smells

antiseptic and unnatural,

but she knows the scent well,

even recalls the rough comfort

of the worn towels.

Phantoms linger here, too—

others like her have

been locked in this cage,

staring through the

metal squares and wondering

if this was their story’s end

or its beginning.

the trip

The cage moves in

fits and starts

while time drifts like

a sluggish stream.

For a while the world fades,

until a door opens and

there it is, the scent

she knows as Highwater:

almost ocean,

almost real.

She is back where she began,

where the teaching happened.

Back to the place where

she learned to be an otter.

clinic intake

So few facts:

Intake notes: 3.2 08:10

Age at admit: 3 years 4 months (est.)

Patient: O-156

Previous admit: yes

Sex: F

Species: E. l. nereis

Rescue location: Moss Landing State Beach, s. end

First call: 07:40—1 stranded, no others sighted

Wt: 20.4 kg

Length: 1.2 meters

Dx: lacerations consistent with shark bite

So many questions.

this time

The prognosis is grim,

but still the staff—

they’re called “aquarists”—

hope this time all will be well

(they always do),

and sometimes, of course,

they’re right.

Things are better

than ten years ago,

five, even. They know

so much more now,

which antibiotics work best,

how to fine-tune the formula,

surgical protocols,

rehab.

And yet understanding the odds,

having done this so many times,

why do their hearts rip open

every time they fail?

Why do they walk

around the clinic for days,

tissues in their pockets, wiping away

tears that keep returning,

relentless as the tides?

surgery

It’s an unusual ER,

small but well-equipped,

where the patients come in many forms:

penguins and moon jellies,

sea lions and octopuses,

green turtles and lumpfish.

So much can go wrong

in the ocean:

run-ins with boats,

illness from pollution,

oil spill exposure,

entanglement in fishing lines,

ingested plastic trash,

diseases with too many syllables:

acanthocephalan peritonitis,

Toxoplasma gondii encephalitis.

Of course, shark bites are a problem, too—

more lately, for many reasons.

Could be the warming ocean.

Could be the dwindling kelp forests

where sea otters like to hide.

Could be all the elephant seals

(a favorite meal for sharks)

sharing the neighborhood with otters.

It’s all a reminder

to keep hopes

humble.

afterward

The surgery takes hours—

shark teeth are like razors—

but finally Odder is moved to

another small room.

(The aquarium is often

bursting at the seams.)

She will be monitored

day and night, hour by hour,

given fluids and antibiotics,

her respiration checked,

her heart rate noted.

The next days

will be long indeed.

Heads will shake,

worries whispered.

There are so few

of her kind left,

and there’s so much more

to learn from her.

That’s what they’re

all thinking.

delirium

Odder lingers in a twilight place,

not quite awake, not quite asleep,

where memories spin

like waterspouts.

Maybe because the end

is near, she returns

to the beginning of her tale,

when she first drew air as a newborn pup,

three pounds of mewling fur,

so small she could fit

in a shoebox or a sand pail

with room

to spare.

Two

how to be an otter pup

three years earlier

day 1

When Odder was born

to her mother, Ondine,

she might well have been

an inflatable toy.

Her magical fur

made her buoyant

as a cork.

A pup submerged

will pop back to the surface

like a furry balloon.

a pup’s life

Odder was her mother’s third pup

(though only the first survived),

and Ondine knew the drill,

knew she would spend

almost every moment

with Odder on her stomach,

clutching her newborn

like a pillow with a heartbeat.

Odder would

drink and sleep,

sleep and drink,

drink and sleep—

pups have it easy,

unlike their moms.

(Don’t ask where Dad was.

Otter fathers aren’t exactly

Parent of the Year

material.)

leashed

Ondine could only dive for food

when Odder was safely looped

in long strands of kelp.

Like a leashed puppy

or a reined pony,

it was the only way to be sure

Odder would stay safe

and wave-cradled.

Still, more than a few pups

came unmoored,

drifting away like

stray beach balls.

the otter hair salon

Ondine neglected her own health,

devoting all her energy to

Odder’s survival,

and that meant

spending countless hours

at the otter hair salon.

Odder’s baby fluff

would soon be replaced

by the warmest fur on earth—

up to a million hairs per square inch,

a miracle of design.

But it’s the air bubbles

otters add that keep them

perfectly, impossibly

warm and dry.

Grooming means

fluffing and blowing

and teasing and separating

and combing and licking

and tidying and spiffing

and cleaning and cleaning

and cleaning some more.

It isn’t vanity.

For otters, it’s a matter of

life and death.

The ocean is a

cold place

to call home.

perfect

Otters don’t fret much

about what they’re called.

When you’re all about survival,

names take a back seat.

Still, as the weeks passed,

it became clear that “Odder”

was the perfect choice for

such a squirmy, squeaky pup.

She never calmed,

nursing for a moment,

then raising her downy head to see

if something fun might be

hiding just beyond

the next wave.

day 28

One month in, and Odder was

thriving, though Ondine

could have used a break.

Had a pup ever moved

this constantly?

Even in her sleep,

cuddled close,

Odder was restless,

her front paws dream-busy,

small and soft as

a toddler’s mittens.

so much to learn

Ondine was not keeping up

with her own feeding.

She felt tired sometimes,

but at least her milk

was still coming.

Soon Odder would have so much to learn:

when to dive for dinner,

where crabs lurked,

how to eat a sea urchin.

One vital trick

Ondine would be teaching:

using rocks for meal prep.

Such time-savers

when you needed to crack open

a crab or mussel!

For weary Ondine, those lessons

couldn’t come fast enough.

tool use

When otters put rocks to work,

humans call it “tool use”

and applaud the ingenuity.

Like chimps and corvids,

octopuses and elephants,

otters have been elevated,

moved up a rung

on the evolutionary ladder,

though every day a new group

seems to join the list of species

that were smarter than

folks thought.

what to fear

Otter pups spend more time

with their moms

than some marine mammals.

Still, they’re born with teeth

and ready to swim

as soon as they shed

their life-jacket baby fur.

They grow up much faster

than human children do.

Already Ondine had tried to share

the most important

lesson she could with her pup:

what to fear—

not that she was certain

Odder was listening.

It was never too early

to learn how to stay alive,

and so she reminded Odder

whenever she could:

Stay away from sharks.

Stay away from humans.

Stay away from all

that you don’t understand.

It felt wrong,

teaching the little one

who made her cherish life

to be afraid of it.

But that was how things

had to be,

especially with a pup

as heedless

and wild-hearted as Odder.

day 32

One morning Ondine awakened

to unsettled air.

The world smelled strange

and storm-ready.

She secured Odder—extra tightly—

to a favorite stand of kelp.

A quick dive for some urchins

would help Ondine stave off

hunger for a bit.

After the storm, shifting sands

might unearth new meals.

Ondine took one last

glance at her pup.

Odder squealed with

outrage at the abandonment,

as she always did,

while Ondine tried to shake off

her feeling of unease.

It was the dream

she’d had last night, perhaps,

or the coming storm

that had her on edge.

That’s all it was.

otter dreams

Humans envy the way

otters sleep on the water,

paws linked,

untroubled as lily pads.

But otters don’t just doze.

Like other mammals,

they dream:

flying dreams

where they ride the thermals like hawks,

and shivery nightmares

where all their fur has vanished,

and fretful dreams

where they can’t crack open a mussel,

frantic as a student who’s forgotten

their locker combination.

the newborn

There was a pup in Ondine’s dream,

newborn, needy and squeaking,

though it wasn’t Odder.

Odder was there, though—

full-grown, in fact—

and while she wasn’t

a mother or a sister or an aunt,

she was somehow important

to the little pup.

Odder kept deep-diving to escape

the pup’s demands—

its helplessness frightened her.

When she couldn’t hold her breath

a second longer,

she would rocket to the surface,

only to find the pup still there,

still asking for her help.

Dozens of times

Odder dove,

dozens of times

she surfaced,

dozens of times

the pup was waiting.

I can’t do it, Odder kept saying.

I don’t know how to teach her,

and through it all,

Ondine could only

watch.

just a dream

A dream.

It was just a dream,

Ondine told herself again

as she prepared to dive.

the wind

Her mother was gone,

searching for food, and once more

Odder was forced to wait,

fidgety and annoyed.

The wind was not itself today.

She didn’t like the way

it kept bullying the water.

It was awful, each time

her mother left her

alone.

If you asked Odder

(or any otter pup),

life should be nothing

but warmth and milk,

cuddling and play,

on demand,

twenty-four hours a day.

Odder reminded herself that

her mother always returned,

smelling of the baffling underwater world,

and ready again to wrap her pup

in paws instead of kelp.

different

Otters are used to

constant movement.

The tides, egged on by the moon,

never stop, after all.

But this day was different.

The waves grew wild,

flinging Odder

this way and that,

refusing to relent,

while she coughed

and gasped.

It was almost as if

the ocean was angry

at her,

but how

could that be?

rain

Rain came hard

and lightning clawed the sky.

Odder cried out,

but her sounds were lost

in water crashing

and whitecaps boiling.

where is she

she is gone

and what if she is gone

forever?

airborne

Pushed and pulled,

the green and living harness

meant to keep Odder safe

let loose.

No one heard her screams.

When the ocean finally

discarded her,

Odder was no longer afloat

on a watery cushion that

swayed and rocked.

She’d landed somewhere

cold and hard

and everything, everything had

stopped.

waiting

Odder shivered,

choking and crying,

as she listened for her mother’s return,

waiting for the clasp of her paws

and the scent of safety.

The rain was just a trickle now,

but where was the ocean?

What was this rough,

unmoving place?

too close

Harsh sounds soon came,

nothing like bird calls, though—

these weren’t gulls or terns or

pelicans.

New scents approached, too,

not part of the water world she knew,

and much, much

too close.

shadows

Huge shadows loomed,

cast by tall, tailless animals with

hideous, too-long

forefeet and flippers,

and next came a touch

not her mother’s,

not easy and knowing,

though not painful, either,

and the grip tightened,

lifting her off the

solid spot where the ocean

had dropped her.

She tried to fight

her way free,

hissing and snarling

and scrabbling.

But the animal that held her

was strong,

and she

was not.

somewhere new

More movement,

bouncing without waves,

more sounds she’d

never heard before.

She was somewhere new.

The air had changed.

It was cool and dry, not damp

with the ocean’s breath.

A soft letting-go happened,

landing her on coarse fur

nothing like her mother’s.

Other animals came close,

leaning in.

She tried to struggle,

but couldn’t move.

She tried to squeal,

but no one listened.

where is she

After a while,

Odder gave up

trying to fight.

Without the circling waves

and her mother’s soothing touch,

all Odder could think was

where is she

where is she

where is she

until finally,

exhausted,

she fell

into a dreamless sleep.

puzzle

The next day, Odder felt stronger.

They wouldn’t leave her alone,

the animals,

endlessly feeding and grooming

and measuring and testing,

as if she were a puzzle

they needed to solve.

They kept her in a box

filled with a tiny piece of ocean.

It was long enough

for a little swim,

wide enough

for a twist or spin,

and had a spot above

the water for resting.

At first Odder feared their intrusions,

but when the animals returned

to give her warm food

through a piece of rubber with a hole

(even though it was never as

satisfying as her mother’s milk),

Odder was grateful for it.

drowning

When she slept,

Odder fought the ocean

in her dreams,

and always the question

washed over her

until she was sure she would

drown in it:

where is she

where is she

where is she

memories

Odder began to recognize

each of the animals and

even look forward,

just a little,

to their arrival.

It wasn’t like

she had a choice.

With every passing hour,

it became harder to recall

her life before this place.

Her mother was

warmth,

Odder reminded herself. She was

food,

and for a while, at least, she was

safety.

But already

the threads of memory

were beginning to fade

and unravel.

chow time

Before long,

Odder could no longer recall

the taste of her mother’s milk.

It may have been creamier

or sweeter than the liquid

they brought her every three hours,

but her stomach didn’t seem

to know the difference.

When the animals were slow

to arrive, Odder squeaked and complained,

and when her meal finally appeared,

she grunted her approval,

and they made murmuring,

relieved sounds.

It was a conversation,

of a sort.

home away from home

Whatever this strange place was,

it was becoming Odder’s home

away from home.

The animals who cared for her

were mystifying.

Their paws had stubby tentacles,

their bodies were practically bald,

and their guttural songs

hurt her ears.

Still, she could not deny

that they were kind,

and that they seemed,

for some unknowable reason,

to want her

to live.

not otters

They weren’t so bad, actually,

Odder decided,

these animals with their awkward paws

and confusing noises.

Although nothing they did

was quite right,

it was right enough.

They weren’t otters.

But they certainly

were trying to be.

scents

The first time she noticed the scent,

Odder thought she was dreaming.

The animals nursing her back to health

always carried hints of other places with them.

Sometimes it was the brine of salt water.

Sometimes it was the tang of fresh air.

But from time to time she would recognize

a scent that was a little like … her.

It was an otter-y smell, rich and reassuring,

but she’d seen no other otters there.

It was a mystery,

but then, everything

about this new life

was a mystery.

swimming lessons

Several times a day, one of the animals

would lift Odder out of her box of water

and carry her to a bigger, round pool,

one with sky and sun above it,

and breezes tinged with salt.

She floated on her back while

they pulled her by her flippers,

carving lazy figure eights.

Now and then Odder would

clutch one of their paws between her own

and the cruise would repeat,

back and forth, back and forth,

as she rode the tiny waves.

Whenever Odder was there,

she knew she belonged to the water,

and it belonged to her.

impossible

When she was happy in the pool,

the animals watched her with care,

clapping their peculiar paws

and revealing their teeth

and making breathy noises,

and always Odder wondered

what it all meant.

They were impossible to decipher,

these big, clumsy creatures.

She would have to watch them carefully

until she knew their ways.

Perhaps the more she understood,

the more she’d be able to

get what she needed from them.

Maybe she’d find her way

back to her life in the wild,

although she was no longer certain

what that might mean.

Would her mother still be

waiting for her, or would

she have moved on to

new places,

new pups?

learning

Even as Odder was learning to

navigate her new world,

her caretakers were learning, too.

This wasn’t their first attempt

teaching survival skills to a pup,

and it wouldn’t be their last.

Their plan was simple,

on paper, at least:

let 156 explore the ocean

with the help of humans,

until she was ready

to return to the wild alone.

Still, the questions kept them

up at night.

What would 156 need to know

on her journey back to freedom?

Would instinct be enough

to guide her?

How do you turn a helpless, captive pup

into a capable, wild adult?

If only they had a manual, one called

How to Teach an Otter Pup

How to Be an Otter Pup.

It seemed they were going

to have to write it themselves.

mystery

Another question lingered,

one without an easy answer:

What had happened to

156’s mother?

They’d searched hard

after 156 was discovered,

but pups and their mothers

were often separated

during violent storms.

Sometimes, with human help,

they could be reunited.

But rescuers couldn’t waste time

when a stranded pup

was in danger of dying.

Now here they were yet again,

pretending to be what they

never could be:

otter moms.

keystones

People often asked them:

Why try so hard to save

one little otter?

Look at an old building sometime,

they’d answer.

Look at an arched door,

or maybe a vaulted ceiling.

See that wedge-shaped

topmost stone?

A keystone, that’s called,

and without it everything falls,

like a tower of blocks or

a house of cards.

It’s the same

with keystone species—

beavers, wolves,

prairie dogs, bees,

desert tortoises, sea otters—

they are nature’s glue,

holding habitats together.

Without otters,

sea urchins, purple as a bruise,

gobble kelp forests

until the ocean floor

becomes a barren wasteland.

When enough sea otters

eat enough sea urchins, though,

all is well, and

the arch endures.

It sounds so simple,

but then, so does

stacking blocks into towers,

and we all know how easy it is

to topple those.

fun

And so they kept at it,

pretending to be otters,

doing what they could

to keep 156 alive and happy.

Fortunately, it isn’t difficult

to entertain an otter pup, and they had

quite a bag of tricks at their disposal:

shells

and algae

urchins

and rocks.

Their motto was simple:

If it belonged to

a wild otter’s world,

it was worth a try.

carwash kelp

A few otters at the aquarium

could never return to the wild,

and for them,

another way to play came

from an unexpected source.

A large display tank at the aquarium

had once featured real kelp,

but its otter guests were rowdy,

prone to partying, and so

the management had to improvise.

Instead of living kelp,

strands of rough fabric now drifted—

the kind at the car wash,

sliding over windshields

bathed in bubbles.

The otters could work with it,

they were an adaptable sort.

And at the end of the day,

play was play.

riding the waves

For 156, in her little pool,

the aquarists would sometimes dangle

a frond of real kelp

so she could grab for it, hanging on

while they towed her across the water.

Soon she would understand how

to use kelp as a pup-sitter,

just like her mother.

Soon she would learn to

deep dive,

to open mussels,

to know which predators

to fear.

Such a long to-do list it was,

and they had so little time.

Every hour with humans

meant an hour Odder might become

more attached to them.

And the more attached she grew,

the less willing she might be

to find the freedom she deserved.

changes

For Odder, the shells and rocks

and outdoor pool

were delightful, but just as exciting

was the arrival of solid food.

One day bits of fishy glop

appeared for her consideration.

Odder sniffed the tempting goo,

ever curious, then took a taste.

It was the ocean!

Wasn’t this how her mother

had smelled when

she returned from a dive?

Odder could no longer recall

her mother’s touch, but this

reminder of life on the waves

was still fresh in her heart.

She was eating the ocean,

and oh my,

how delicious it tasted!

coincidence

Odder liked to take food in her paws

and make the kind of mess

that only determined babies,

faced with a jarful of cooked peas,

can create.

Interesting coincidence:

Once solid food started,

her grooming seemed to take

a whole lot longer.

how to groom an otter pup

How do you groom an otter pup?

Carefully.

To begin with, be afraid.

If you get it wrong, it won’t be

just another bad hair day.

If you get it wrong,

she could be lost—

for otters,

temperature is everything.

Be prepared.

You’ll need towels,

so many towels,

brushes, little combs,

a hair dryer,

and boundless patience.

Most of all,

be grateful.

Know how lucky you are to care

for this marvel of nature,

to witness her contented sighs

and watch her perfect curl

into slumber.

others

During her first few days at Highwater,

Odder often caught traces of

something beyond her simple life—

scents lingering on the air,

or what sounded like the kind of squeak or hiss

that she herself might make.

Though she would smell curious things

on the animals when they reached for her,

and hear curious things when she lay quietly in her cage,

every time it happened she told herself

to stop thinking there might be others like her

in this not-quite-home.

What point was there

in hoping?

milestone

Even before she’d shed her baby coat,

Odder’s diving lessons began.

At first the aquarists placed

a few cracked clams and mussels

in a sand-filled bowl at the bottom

of her shallow pool,

just a foot or two out of reach.

It seemed to frighten poor 156,

the way they urged her

to explore below the surface.

She didn’t understand

that her ears and nostrils

could close at will.

She didn’t realize

that the ocean floor

was the ultimate

otter restaurant.

diving

It wasn’t easy, diving,

saying farewell to air and light

and forcing herself to head

toward places unknown.

It took all Odder’s strength,

and many tries, to talk

her flippers and tail and waterwise body

into doing exactly what they needed to do.

But there it sat, a cracked shell

at the bottom of the pool, and inside that shell

was a luscious clam.

When she finally surfaced,

sat the shell on her chest,

and plucked a tasty snack

from its hiding place,

the animals (her loyal audience)

made sounds that Odder decided

meant they were pleased.

Not that she cared.

She was too busy

slurping down dinner.

the surprise

The next morning it was time

for another diving lesson,

but instead of taking Odder

to the outdoor pool she knew so well,

the animals carried her to

an unfamiliar place.

The smells were enticing

and the room echoed with noise, lots of it—

splashing, bubbling, thumping, squealing.

Were those otter scents?

Otter sounds?

Odder, being Odder,

didn’t hesitate a moment.

She plunged into

a huge pool decked out

like a miniature ocean.

The water had smooth, clear sides—

she bumped her nose on invisible walls

before figuring that out—

and it took a while to reach

the faraway sandy bottom

littered with lovely shells.

Small, restless creatures shimmied past—

colorful, but confusing

(fish, she remembered learning from her mother)—

and fronds of fake kelp swayed

in a slow-motion hula.

But only one thing mattered to Odder,

and as she returned to the surface,

she had her answer.

welcome

Welcome to the tank,

youngster,

said a large, female, silver-tinged

animal.

An otter.

surrounded

Two elderly otters

approached her,

quite determined to sniff and nudge

until they’d assured themselves

she belonged with them.

Despite her curiosity,

Odder felt overwhelmed,

surrounded by such nosy strangers.

She tried to climb out of the tank

to the safety of her little cage,

back to the animals who’d brought her,

but there was no way out,

no ramp or easy exit.

They want you in here,

explained the smaller female.

It’s about learning to deep dive.

I know how to dive,

said Odder.

Just wait till you see the ocean,

the otter replied.

just a pup

I was born in the ocean,

Odder said,

circling warily.

I wonder if she’s permanent?

asked the other otter.

She had long, thick whiskers

and a notch in one of her flippers.

Poor dear,

said the smaller female,

she looks nervous. Be kind.

She’s just a pup, Gracie.

She turned her gaze on Odder.

You’re safe with us, little one.

Odder swam backward

until she rammed

the edge of the tank.

They call me Holly,

said the smaller female.

And that’s Gracie over there.

We’ve been here forever,

Holly said.

They decided we weren’t fit

for the ocean.

She gave a toss of her silver head.

These days, old and creaky as we are,

they’re probably right.

listening

Odder scooted here and there,

keeping her distance,

though she couldn’t take her eyes

off the two otters.

And you are?

asked Holly.

It took Odder a moment to

realize she’d been asked a question.

Well, my mother called me “Odder,”

she answered.

But what do they call you here?

Holly asked.

Are you a number or a name?

I’m not sure,

Odder said.

They only name you

if you’re staying for good,

Gracie said, in a voice that

sounded like she’d

swallowed a fistful of pebbles.

Trust me.

It’s better to be a number.

escape

Odder dove and darted,

leaving a frothy trail in her wake.

She had so many questions,

and these old otters

seemed to have plenty of answers.

Still, they made her anxious,

with their talk of names

and numbers

and permanence.

After so much time, shouldn’t she be happier to be

with others like her?

It made no sense.

She longed for the calm of her cage,

her shallow pool, her colorful shells

with their secret treats.

When the big animals finally

allowed her to clamber up a ramp,

she ran to them as if they

were long-lost family,

and she felt, at that moment,

that they were.

the next step

Every day after that,

Odder visited the large tank.

Deep dives soon became

an effortless joy.

While she zipped up and down

the tank, perfecting new moves,

Odder peppered the otters

with questions.

They’d seen pups like her

come and go before, they said.

She was there to learn to

dive deeper than her

usual spot allowed—

the pup pool, they called it.

Before long, though,

Odder would probably be promoted,

moved on to the next step:

the ocean.

ready

The very idea of returning

to a life in the wild filled Odder

with a dizzying mix of

yearning and dread.

Are you sure?

she asked them.

Why didn’t they send you back?

We couldn’t have survived,

Gracie answered,

or so they thought.

There are many reasons.

Sometimes we’re too weak,

or too attached to life here.

She paused.

Sometimes we try to return

and the ocean simply spits us back.

What if I’m not ready for the ocean?

Odder asked,

spinning and rolling.

What if the animals are wrong?

humans

Animals?

Gracie repeated,

sounding amused.

Those animals are called humans, my dear,

Holly said.

How do you know?

Odder asked,

toying with a ripply brown shell

she’d found on the tank floor.

If you listen long enough, you learn things,

Gracie said.

Whether you want to or not.

warning

A memory came back to Odder,

a warning shrouded in ocean mist:

Stay away from sharks.

Stay away from humans.

Stay away from all

that you don’t understand.

More questions poured out,

one after another:

Should I be afraid of humans?

and

Why would my mother have told me that?

and

What exactly is a shark?

There were sharks in Highwater,

the otters told her,

but they lived in their own tanks

(and, Gracie claimed, weren’t nearly

as popular with the visitors as otters).

Her mother was just doing her job,

they said,

teaching Odder to survive.

As for being afraid of humans,

that was a bit more complicated.

The ones here, at least,

were good-hearted.

Beyond these stubborn walls

of impassable water, though,

who could say?

unanswered

Odder never got all the answers

she needed.

After just a few visits,

she graduated

from the tank.

When it came to diving,

she was a superstar.

It was time for the teaching

to get serious.

Before that happened, though,

the animals—the humans—

took her to the room where

they’d first cared for her.

They fussed a while

until they’d attached

a small, clamshell-sized piece

of something flexible

to the webbing

on her left hind flipper.

No matter how fast

she swam or kicked or twisted,

the something would not

come off.

It didn’t matter to Odder,

not as long as she could

play in her nonstop way.

tagged

156 was ready.

The aquarists all agreed.

They’d tagged her flipper.

Allowed her to hone her

diving skills in the large tank

(as if 156 needed help).

In any case,

the nagging tick

of an invisible clock

reminded them that time was short

for their beloved little

otter.

outside

On a sun-drenched morning,

two humans, one carrying Odder

in her arms, headed outside.

The assault of smells

was overwhelming.

One of Odder’s favorite humans

was barely recognizable,

covered in stretchy new skin

that hid his lumbering, furless body.

His own flippers had been

replaced by larger, imitation ones—

an improvement, to be sure,

but not nearly as nice as her own.

Odder blinked

and there it was:

the place where she was born.

She watched as the water reached out to her,

beckoning with its foamy fingers

before backing away.

Odder squealed and twisted and complained.

What were they waiting for?

This was where she belonged.

open

The human with new skin

and fresh flippers

took Odder in his arms and

stepped into the surf.

Without a pause, she dove.

The water was frigid and murky,

and the bewildering waves

swallowed her down.

The noise was deafening—

did the ocean ever stop talking?—

and Odder realized they’d made

a terrible mistake.

She wasn’t

ready for this, not even

close to ready.

panic

She was panicking,

twisting and flipping,

but then there he was, the human,

pretending to be an otter.

His hand brushed against Odder.

He was under the waves,

swept along in the same current,

moving much the same way

she was moving

(though not as gracefully).

Odder’s body relaxed into the swells

as she and her almost-otter teacher

dove deeper.

She was no longer afraid

because her teacher didn’t seem to be.

She was with someone

who had brought her this far,

someone who seemed to think

she could go even farther.

more lessons

The lessons happened daily,

and always Odder’s almost-otter friend,

with his awkward not-quite-flippers, joined her.

Days turned to weeks, and quickly

her fear turned to bliss.

They headed farther and deeper into the water,

and at first she never strayed from his side,

even when she saw wild otters

in the distance.

Over time, though,

Odder grew bolder,

venturing off on her own for a bit.

She explored the kelp forest—

real kelp at last!—where fronds

rode the breathing ocean’s rise and fall,

and sea stars and clams lay like gifts

waiting for Odder to open.

She even perfected a new move,

a way to spiral down

to the sandy floor in style:

a giddy, pinwheeling

tornado.

Why simply dive

when she could dazzle?

return

Always when it was time to

leave the water behind,

Odder wondered why.

Why couldn’t the two of them

stay there forever?

Why did they have to leave

this endless playground

for a place so plain and small?

Why bother with kelp clippings

when a whole forest of real kelp awaited?

Still, Odder allowed him to take her

back to Highwater again and again.

He was her teacher,

her safe harbor.

The quick-tempered bay didn’t care

if she lived or died.

Odder’s dream

One night after a perfect day of diving,

Odder dreamed of a pup,

a newborn female.

She’d had dreams about pups before,

but this one was different,

haunting and too real.

The tiny pup was trapped in knots of kelp,

unable to free herself, and

Odder was the only one who could hear her

desperate calls for help.

Odder tried everything,

tearing through the kelp with her teeth,

her claws, her body,

but nothing she did made any difference.

She awoke, trembling,

the pup’s cries still echoing

in her mind.

It was just a dream,

she told herself.

Just a dream.

the wild otters

The next morning, the bay was sullen,

as quiet as she’d ever seen it,

flat and gray.

Diving—as always, with her otter-teacher—

was almost too easy:

Urchins were begging to be claimed,

and swimming was as effortless

as breathing.

After surfacing a few times,

Odder noticed movement

on the horizon.

Two otters swimming,

that’s all it was. She’d seen

others, of course—

had even played with a few—

and while they always intrigued her,

she’d never felt moved to stay with them.

But this time, Odder was mesmerized

by the way they splashed and cavorted.

She couldn’t stop watching their

spins and somersaults,

almost (but not quite)

as impressive as her own.

They could have been her.

They were her.

the leaving

It was nothing new,

seeing those otters,

so why did it feel different this time?

She was still Odder,

tied by invisible threads

to her human caretakers.

Maybe it was the dream she’d had.

Maybe it was the calm, glassy water,

inviting her to take a chance.

Maybe it was the exuberant way

the otters owned the waves—

the way she loved to move.

Maybe it was simply time.

Her otter-teacher surfaced.

She looked at him fondly,

the human who knew so little

about how to be an otter,

and yet had taught her so much.

He and the other humans

had saved her from death.

She knew in her heart that

she owed them everything,

the same way she knew she had to

swim away now,

this very moment,

before she changed her mind.

how to say goodbye to an otter

Be hopeful.

She’s been tagged with ID,

and you’ll be checking on her

constantly. Besides, she’s

a prodigy in the water.

Know you’ve taught her well,

that she is ready for this moment,

that there is never a perfect time

to let go of the ones we love.

See that gleaming head

and spinning body,

watch her submerge

into a world where you

will never belong.

Imagine that dive of hers,

that hypnotizing cyclone

of fur and bubbles,

and smile through

your joyful tears.

Three

otter #209

the present

recovery

After almost three years of freedom,

Odder again lies in a cage at Highwater.

Eight days have passed

since the shark attack.

Her first time here, she’d been a helpless pup.

Now she’s a helpless adult,

pieced back together by the same humans

who’d once fed her formula every three hours

and groomed her fluffy coat like

doting otter moms.

Her whole body throbs or aches or itches.

The humans won’t let her lick her wounds,

though every fiber of her being tells her

that’s exactly what she needs to do.

She’s back in her old pup pool,

and they can’t seem to stop

jabbing and jostling her.

Still, she knows it’s wise

to tolerate their meddling.

That much, at least,

she’s learned the hard way.

regret

As bad as the discomfort is,

the regret is worse.

How could she have been so reckless,

venturing so far into the bay?

How could she have put herself,

and poor Kairi, at risk?

Had her mother’s warnings

meant nothing?

Odder promises herself that

when she returns to the water

she will be different,

cautious and sensible and

grown-up and boring.

She won’t venture too far,

won’t long for those

mouthwatering bay crabs,

won’t spend every moment

working on yet another

thrilling move.

She will stop being Odder.

looking

As she slowly recovers,

memories of her time in the wild

fill Odder’s long days.

After she’d left her otter-teacher behind

(she’d thought of it as a daring escape,

but of course there was no way

he could keep her from departing),

it seemed she spent

every waking moment searching—

for what, she wasn’t always sure.

In a way, it didn’t matter.

Searching meant swimming,

and swimming meant play,

and play was her purpose.

At first, she looked for her mother,

but no one seemed to know

what had happened to her.

Mothers moved on.

That was the way of things.

She searched for friends,

and soon she found Kairi and others

to keep her company.

Sometimes they would

float together, paws entwined,

two dozen otters or more,

a comforting tangle of whiskers and tails.

She searched for sharks,

saw a few, and knew to

keep her distance.

She searched for food,

always ready to grab another morsel.

It’s hard to play when

your stomach has other ideas.

And even though she’d left

them behind,

she could never seem

to stop searching for more humans,

no matter how hard

she tried.

visits

Odder’s former caretakers were

on the lookout for her, too.

To her surprise, she often

caught sight of them

in a ridiculous puttering boat,

watching her

watching them.

(No doubt they needed the boat

because they were such

lousy swimmers.)

Now and then, when she

tailed a diver or visited a kayaker

or ventured too close to a curious tourist,

her old friends would appear

with a net and a cage.

Eventually they would manage

to catch her, and,

with heavy sighs and rolled eyes,

move her away to an area

with more otters

and fewer humans.

It was a pointless game,

one she didn’t understand,

but like any devoted student,

she was always delighted

to touch base

with her former teachers.

mistake

She loved her time of freedom,

though there were hungry days

and lonely ones,

and Odder constantly reminds herself

that she would still be

whipping through whitecaps,

if only she’d been more careful.

One shark.

One mistake.

That’s all it takes

to change your life forever

when the ocean is your home.

rehab

At last the humans decide

Odder is healthy enough

to play in the larger rooftop pool,

the one with sky and sun

and bright, clean air,

but her body refuses to behave

the way she wants it to.

She’s stiff and fumbling,

and every move feels

as graceless as a human’s.

Still, it’s water,

beautiful water,

and that’s all that matters.

stronger

One morning, Odder is

moved to someplace new.

As the humans carry her,

Odder samples the air. The otter tank!

There’s another vague scent, too,

one that makes her heart quicken,

but only after she’s splashed into the water

can she ask Gracie and Holly:

Is there another otter here?

An otter named Kairi?

catching up

Hello to you, too,

says Holly, as she and Gracie

swirl around Odder,

examining her scars

and sniffing her head.

Tell us all about it,

Gracie urges,

and Holly says, not unkindly,

You’re moving as slowly

as we are, my girl.

Odder stays silent

so the old otters will calm.

I will tell you the whole story,

she finally says.

But first you have to answer me:

Is there another otter here?

Gracie paws at an ear.

They call her Twyla,

she said. But I think her

wild name was Kairi.

Kairi. Here.

Where is she?

Odder demands.

And why is she here?

Is she hurt?

She remembers Kairi’s nipped tail

and the horrible smell of blood.

Is it because of a shark bite?

No, dear,

Holly replies.

She has the shaking sickness,

but the humans are making it better.

Odder dives and circles

to calm herself. When she

emerges, she asks,

If Kairi is better, then why

isn’t she here with you?

The pup,

Gracie answers,

as if it’s obvious.

The one that died.

Twyla

They tell Odder the story then,

how an otter the humans called “Twyla”

was found beached, shuddering

with the sickness that so many otters

seemed to have these days.

No one realized that she would soon

give birth to a pup.

How she joined the tank not

long ago, and how they’d

had to tell her the truth:

When the humans name you,

it means you are here to stay

for good.

How one day she gave birth

to a stillborn pup

and held its lifeless body,

hugging it close for hours.

How the humans

had slowly, gently

removed her and the pup

from the tank.

Where she was now,

no one knew.

back in the tank

While it’s good to be out of the pup pool

and see the two old otters again,

knowing what Kairi has gone through

haunts Odder’s return to the tank.

It helps a little to know it’s not

Odder’s fault that Kairi is here—

but only a little.

It hurts, not being able to reassure

her old friend, to call her silly minnow

and do daredevil tricks until

worrywart Kairi

is secretly amused.

If she finds Kairi here,

Odder will promise

her that all will be well.

She’ll make up a riveting story

with a splendid ending,

one where Kairi roams free in the slough

with a healthy, newborn pup.

Odder will be in the story, too—

she’ll be the doting auntie

who teaches the pup

all her best moves.

No matter how many times Odder

practices the tale, though,

she knows it’s just a lie

without an ending.

wrong

Days pass, and everything is wrong.

There’s no sign of Kairi,

and there’s no sign

of the old Odder, either.

She’s slowly healing, but she simply

can’t move the way she used to.

Her playful, mischievous self

has vanished. The shark attack

shadows her the way a stubborn cloud

can steal the sun.

The elderly otters try to encourage her,

but nothing helps. She’s beginning to

wonder if she’ll ever leave this place.

Maybe she’s meant to grow old here,

like the others.

Not long ago, Gracie reminded her

that wild otters who spend

too much time near humans

are sometimes brought to Highwater

for their own safety.

Gracie was one of those curious types,

she admitted.

Odder thought back to all

the kayakers and divers,

boaters and tourists

she’d investigated

over the years.

I was like that, too,

she said softly.

Still, she knows that even if she’d listened

to her mother’s warnings

and stayed far away from humans,

even if she’d evaded the shark,

there were plenty of other reasons

she might have ended up here at Highwater.

Look at Kairi, timid and vigilant.

She’d done everything right,

and it hadn’t mattered in the least.

exam

The aquarists want Odder to exercise.

They cajole and implore,

dangling treats just out of reach,

but she ignores them.

She is eating little, diving even less,

so they take her to the exam room,

check her vitals, X-ray her belly,

manipulate her paws and flippers,

and when she is passive and silent,

they worry. Where is the

rambunctious pup

they used to know?

Could she possibly sense, somehow,

the heartbreaking decision

they’ve finally reached?

No.

Of course not.

It’s the right thing to do,

and they know it,

given her injuries

and her long history of

risky encounters with people.

But the notion that she’ll never

again float in the slough,

linked, like a vital puzzle piece,

to other otters

(a “raft,” it’s called),

is hard to accept.

They can’t help feeling,

despite everything they’ve done,

that they’ve let

their dear friend down.

human noise

It’s Gracie who notices first.

She’s spent years hearing human noise,

deciphering what she can.

When sounds are repeated,

it’s a sign that something matters

(to the humans, anyway).

Many noises end with a food reward,

and that’s reason enough

to listen with care:

“Gracie” means her.

“Good girl” means a treat.

“Come” means swim to the edge of the tank.

“Wait” means prepare to be annoyed.

It’s only because she’s had so much practice

that Gracie takes note of the sound

humans have begun using

whenever Odder’s near:

“Jazz.”

“Good girl, Jazz,” they say.

“Come, Jazz.”

“Wait, Jazz.”

The humans, she fears,

have given her young friend

a name.

never

For two days, Gracie waits.

She doesn’t have the heart to tell Odder

that she, like the rest of them,

will never be leaving.

Jazz

She’s not surprised, not really.

For Odder, it feels like that day

of the shark attack, when she

lay waiting to die.

It’s a relief, giving up

and accepting the inevitable.

Hope can be

exhausting.

spared

As the days blur together,

a calm acceptance sets in.

Truth is, it feels only fair,

sharing the fate of her friends.

Why should Odder

be any different?

And honestly, this life at Highwater

isn’t so bad, is it?

She’s safe and cared for,

loved, it seems, by

her human caretakers.

Most importantly,

she’ll be forever spared

the dark, determined threats

of ocean life.

no sign

Sometimes Odder thinks

she catches Kairi’s scent in the air,

but there’s been no sign of her old friend

since the pup’s death.

Every now and then other intriguing smells

waft past, and Odder will

look to the elderly otters to

see if they, too, have noticed anything.

But their noses don’t work

as well as they used to,

and Odder tells herself that

she’s probably just imagining things.

She’s good at that,

it appears.

absurd

This afternoon two of the humans

come calling for her:

“Jazz! Come, Jazz!”

They tap on the edge of the tank,

and she ignores them to make it clear

she’s not interested.

But when a shred of crabmeat appears,

Odder meanders over to accept the treat

between her paws.

She glances at the humans

and is surprised to see that one

has covered herself in a confounding way.

(Humans are always wearing

things to hide their lack of fur, of course,

but this new effort is startling.)

From the neck down, the human is

sheathed in something

thick and loose and dark

that hides her appendages,

while her head is completely covered

by a black boxlike object.

Even by human standards

(which is saying something),

she looks foolish.

Not for the first time,

Odder is grateful for her

luxurious fur.

Human bodies seem to

offer plenty of opportunities

for humiliation.

up to something

Another piece of crab, another

instruction:

“Cage, Jazz. Cage.”

Clearly, they want her to climb up a ramp

and enter the small cage that awaits.

But that cage means a visit to the exam room

where humans like to prod and measure her,

and she is fine, thank you very much.

More crab is offered, and when Odder

still won’t leave the tank,

they resort to trapping her

in a net.

It’s an unusual move,

and a bit embarrassing,

but then, she’s being

unusually stubborn.

Odder hisses and screeches

to show her displeasure.

They are up to something,

that much is clear.

knowing

A few minutes later,

they approach the rooftop where

her old pup pool is located,

and even before the door creaks open,

Odder knows with absolute certainty,

as surely as she

knows how to play:

Kairi is here.

back to the pup pool

Odder squeals and chirps and wiggles.

The boxhead human carries

her cage toward a pool,

while the other human stays behind.

As soon as the cage door opens,

Odder leaps into the water

with an impressive splash.

Kairi is in a small pool nearby,

close enough for Odder

to catch a glimpse of her friend.

Kairi looks well. Her fur gleams,

and she’s gained some weight.

She is floating on her back,

hugging a little toy to her chest,

moving in her slow, deliberate

Kairi way.

Kairi!

Odder darts back and forth.

I’ve missed you!

she cries,

but her old friend is silent.

Kairi?

Odder repeats,

even louder.

Hello, Odder,

Kairi whispers at last.

I’ve missed you, too,

my friend.

bribes

Before she leaves, the boxhead human

praises Odder with reassuring noises.

She even gives Odder floaty toys

and ice cubes filled with

tempting shreds of crab.

But Odder isn’t so easily bought off.

Why has she been brought to her old pup pool?

Maybe she’s here to keep Kairi

company, but if that’s the case,

why aren’t they sharing the same pool?

Normally, Odder would be furious,

but something else

has caught her attention,

something fascinating.

ball of fluff

When Odder rushes

to the edge of the pool

and lifts her head just so,

she can see them both clearly.

Kairi isn’t holding

a toy.

She’s holding

an unbearably tiny pup,

a ball of fluff so small

that Odder wonders

if it’s really an otter at all.

I thought …

Odder begins.

I thought your pup …

maybe

She did,

Kairi answers simply.

She died.

I’m so sorry,

Odder whispers.

It happens sometimes,

they say.

But then—

Kairi nudges the little one

cuddled on her chest—

then they brought me this pup.

I don’t know how, or why, Odder.

Maybe he was …

Kairi trails off.

Maybe he was all alone,

says Odder.

The way I was.

small

The pup makes a soft squeak,

and Kairi nuzzles him.

How do you know

what to do?

Odder asks.

I just … do,

says Kairi, and she looks

as mystified as Odder.

Odder stares for a while,

barely moving.

The pup looks utterly safe

in Kairi’s paws,

sheltered from all the world’s

unkindness.

Could we ever have been this small?

Kairi asks.

No,

says Odder, trying

to shake off the sudden sadness

dragging her down

like a whirlpool.

Never.

echoes

Odder makes a hard dive,

remembering too late

how shallow the pup pool is.

She bumps her head, then

circles the pool uneasily.

Had she ever been held that way

by her own mother,

with such tenderness?

Had she ever had the chance to be

so protected and loved?

All Odder can recall

from those early days

is a question that still

echoes in her dreams:

where is she

where is she

where is she

sorry

That night, the full moon swims

past the stars, glowing like a sea jelly,

while Odder watches its journey.

From time to time the pup

squeaks or whimpers or whines,

and Kairi soothes him with

coos and pats.

The old otters told me you were sick,

Odder says, after a long silence.

The shaking sickness, yes,

says Kairi.

Like Amaya and the others.

I’m sorry,

says Odder,

paddling listlessly.

The humans made me better,

Kairi says.

It’s not so bad these days.

Odder twirls a toy

between her paws.

Kairi?

she whispers.

Yes?

I’m sorry about what happened.

About how I put you in danger.

Odder pauses,

waiting for her friend’s

harsh reply.

She hears Kairi

whispering to the pup.

Kairi?

Odder asks.

It was nothing,

Kairi says.

Nothing at all,

you silly minnow.

boxheads

The humans continue to visit

at precise intervals, day and night,

always dressed in their

inexplicable gear.

They pause to say hello to Odder,

giving her treats and attention,

but they seem obsessed

with Kairi and the pup.

When they remove him

from her grasp, however briefly,

his screams of outrage,

and Kairi’s anxious groans,

send Odder underwater

to drown out the sounds.

bye, Jazz

When the humans leave,

they make the noises

Gracie has taught

Odder to recognize:

“Bye, Jazz.”

“Bye, Twyla.”

The door clicks shut.

Those sounds are names,

Odder says.

Our new names.

I know,

Kairi answers.

The old otters told me

what that means.

The pup makes a

sweet, whistling sound.

What about him?

Odder asks.

What do you call him?

Just “pup,”

Kairi answers,

slowly crossing the pool.

I think I’m afraid to name him.

It feels like bad luck.

Do you think—

Odder hesitates.

Do you think they’ll name him,

the way they’ve named us?

I hope not,

Kairi says.

I want him to be free.

why

Odder peers over the pool’s edge.

Kairi and the pup might as well be

a single animal. It’s hard to tell where one

begins and the other ends.

Why do you want him to be free?

Odder presses.

Do you really want him to face

what we faced?

You were so sick.

And the shark nearly

got us both.

Kairi is silent.

Remember the story of the Fifty?

Odder asks.

Why do you think there were only

fifty of us left in our waters?

The humans were killing us for our fur,

Kairi.

But things are different now,

Kairi says.

It’s Odder’s turn to fall silent.

He’s safe here, at least,

she finally says.

That doesn’t sound like you, Odder,

Kairi says.

Odder considers for a moment.

Maybe,

she says,

that’s because I’m not really

Odder anymore. I’m Jazz.

the answer

Another day passes,

and the boxhead humans keep coming,

gathering to coo about the pup.

They seem pleased with Kairi,

their voices high-pitched and animated,

like shorebirds at dawn.

They still give Odder plenty

of toys and treats, but she feels like

an afterthought. Why do they

insist on keeping her here,

when the big otter tank awaits?

What is the point?

Early the next morning,

two boxheads arrive,

but instead of going straight

to Kairi, they approach Odder,

and at last,

whether she wants it or not,

she has the answer

to her question.

day 1 with pup

One of the boxheads clutches

a towel in her arms,

covering something

squirming and squealing,

and of course Odder

knows what it is,

she can smell it,

she can see its flippers

and a hint of its whiskers,

and still,

when they open the towel

and ever so gently

place the pup

in the pool,

for a moment,

Odder stops

breathing.

the new addition

This pup is bigger than the one

Kairi is caring for, and louder—

her shrill complaints

hurt Odder’s ears.

She’s clumsy and sputtering,

as if she’s new to the water,

and scrawny as well.

Her eyes, too large for the rest of her,

gleam like sea stones

as they lock on Odder.

The humans are watching

Odder—at least, it seems

like they are. It’s hard to

tell with their boxheads,

but there’s an air of

expectation in the room,

as if they’re waiting for her

to perform a task so they

can deliver a treat.

The pup, with great effort,

splashes over

to a tangle of kelp fronds

and does her best

to hide.

For her part, Odder dives

to the far side of the tank.

So this is why

they brought Odder here:

to be another Kairi.

Well, she’ll never be like her friend.

She’s not calm and kind

and patient and careful.

She nearly got

them both killed, after all.

She may not be Odder anymore.

But she’s definitely not Kairi, either.

all day long

All day long,

the humans hover.

All day long,

the pup squeals.

All day long,

Odder ignores her.

reprieve

In the evening,

one of the boxheads

catches the pup in a net,

and Odder is finally

free to roam the tank

in peace.

I wonder where they’re taking her,

says Kairi.

It’s the first thing

she’s said all day.

I don’t know,

Odder replies.

I’m just glad to have

my pool back.

Odder dips

and dives and twirls

for a while.

What was she like?

Kairi asks when Odder pauses

to loll in the kelp.

She was noisy,

Odder says.

And clumsy.

And she smelled funny.

Like all pups, then,

Kairi says.

After retrieving some food—

she hadn’t realized how hungry

she was—Odder asks,

What was I supposed

to do with her?

Kairi’s pup makes a noise,

half-purr, half-peep.

Well, what did the humans do with you,

Kairi asks,

when you were brought here

as a pup?

I don’t know,

Odder says.

It’s hard to remember.

I suppose …

She slips underwater to grab a clam,

then surfaces.

You suppose what?

Kairi presses.

I suppose you could say,

Odder replies,

that they taught me how

to be an otter.

Exactly,

says Kairi.

day 2 with pup

The pup returns.

She hides in the strands of kelp.

All day long,

the humans hover.

Now and then,

the pup squeals.

All day long,

Odder ignores her.

day 3 with pup

The pup returns.

She hides in the kelp.

All day long,

the humans hover.

The pup barely

makes a sound.

All day long,

Odder ignores her.

day 4 with pup

The pup returns.

She hides in the kelp.

All day long,

the humans hover.

The pup is silent.

At the end of the day,

Odder swims over

to see if the pup

is still alive.

She is.

meeting

The next morning, before

they return the pup (she’s #209)

to Jazz’s tank, the aquarists hold a meeting.

Is there something else they can do

to get Jazz to accept the pup

so in need of her help?

Maybe not.

Maybe they’re asking

too much of her.

They’d tried this once before,

after all, and it hadn’t worked.

Twyla is their first success story,

and it’s still quite early. Maybe because

she’d just given birth, bonding

came more easily for her.

Is there any reason to expect

feisty, unpredictable Jazz

to react the same way?

It almost seems unfair.

She’s already gone

through so much.

Darth Vader

Still, though it’s an incredible long shot,

what if this works? What if,

instead of humans teaching

abandoned pups how to be otters,

they can recruit actual otters—

otters who could no longer survive

in the wild? Otters like Twyla and Jazz?

The aquarists don their strange costumes,

the ones they call their “Darth Vader” look.

It’s harder to move, covered

in a thick black poncho, gloves,

and a welder’s helmet,

but it’s also harder for the pups

to recognize humans,

make eye contact,

and bond.

It’s simple, and yet so complicated:

If 217 and 209 are going to survive

in the wild, they need to understand

that they are otters,

not agile, charming,

furry humans.

another dream

Odder awakens from

another dream

about a pup.

The pup is drowning.

And Odder lets her drown.

talking

Odder cries out,

and Kairi calls,

Odder, are you all right?

Bad dream,

says Odder,

shaking her head.

That’s all.

They’ll be bringing the pup soon,

Kairi says,

as if Odder

needs reminding.

I’m hoping they’ve given up,

says Odder.

Kairi doesn’t say anything

for a long while.

What about the pup?

she finally asks.

What about her?

Odder says.

She takes a deep breath.

I’m not like you, Kairi.

I get in trouble. I don’t listen.

I nearly got you killed.

I don’t know how to

take care of that pup.

I barely know how to

take care of myself.

You know how to play,

says Kairi.

day 5 with pup

The pup returns.

She hides in the kelp.

All day long,

the humans hover.

The pup is silent.

At the end of the day,

Odder swims over.

She gives the pup a nose-tap,

a barely there touch.

The pup whimpers.

She is still alive.

pathetic

Odder reaches out

a paw.

The pup’s eyes

go wide.

She squeals and

tries to paddle away,

but her flippers tangle

in pieces of kelp.

She twists and turns,

but she can’t free herself.

Clearly, she has

no idea how to dive.

Odder pulls away,

stunned.

She was never this

helpless, was she?

This weak

and needy?

She glances at the boxheads,

watching her and the pup,

and remembers the first time

the humans tried to teach her

to dive.

True, they’d understood

the mechanics—the how—

but there was no way they

could know the why:

the shocking, miraculous

joy of it all.

The pup twists harder.

For a moment,

her head is underwater.

She emerges,

horrified at how

wet her face is,

frantically rubbing her nose

with her tiny paws,

squeaking with

fear and frustration.

The boxheads move

toward the tank with their net,

ready to rescue

the poor pup.

purpose

Odder can’t stand it

any longer.

No otter should be this

terrified of the water.

Water means play,

and play is their purpose.

calming

Odder dives underneath the pup

and pushes her past the

knot of kelp.

The pup writhes and squeals,

but Odder performs a roll,

slipping beneath the pup,

then rises,

floating on her back,

clutching the soft mound

of fur close,

until the little pup

finally relaxes.

Back and forth

across the pool

Odder moves,

gliding,

cradling,

calming.

whispers

The humans are making

happy noises,

and so is Kairi,

but Odder isn’t paying

attention, because

she is whispering

to the pup clinging

to her as if Odder means

the difference between life

and death.

Little one,

she says,

if I am going to be

your otter-teacher,

let’s get one thing

straight.

I will teach you how to

dive for mussels,

how to open clams,

how to anchor yourself

with kelp when you sleep.

And yes, like my mother,

I will teach you

to fear sharks

and avoid humans,

because, dear one,

I must.

The pup taps Odder’s

nose with her paw

and makes a purring sound.

Odder thinks of her mother,

of her warnings about the world,

her fretting and worrying,

and for the first time,

she understands.

Most of all,

says Odder,

I am going to teach you

how to play,

silly minnow.

Again the pup purrs.

I’ve got some moves,

Odder says,

you’re not going

to believe,

and suddenly she

cannot wait for

tomorrow.

There is so much

this little pup

needs to know.

coda

six months later

how to say goodbye to an otter (otter version)

Be proud.

After long months,

know you’ve done your best,

that teaching and loving

are different words

for the same thing.

Be hopeful.

Imagine them

as the cages open,

as they leap into

the wild water

to use what you have shared,

to take chances and

make mistakes,

to be lonely sometimes,

and lost,

but always,

to know that

the world is not

meant to be feared,

and that water,

beautiful water,

will always mean

play.

Glossary

abalone: an edible shellfish whose shell features a shiny layer called “mother-of-pearl”

acanthocephalan peritonitis: a parasitic infection that can cause death in sea otters

antibiotics: drugs that can cure many bacterial illnesses

bay: a small body of water partially surrounded by land and connected to a larger body of water

blubber: a thick layer of fat found under the skin

clam: a small, edible shellfish

eelgrass: an underwater plant providing food and habitat for many species

great white shark: the world’s largest known predatory fish

hauling out: leaving water to go ashore

invertebrate: an animal without a spine

kelp: brown seaweed found in cold coastal waters

keystone species: a species that is vitally important to the health of an ecosystem

mussel: an edible sea creature with a dark shell

parasite: a small creature that lives on or in another animal and causes disease

predator: an animal that kills and eats other animals

prey: an animal that is hunted for food

raft: a group of otters floating together

rehab: the process of helping someone or something that is sick or injured return to wellness (short for “rehabilitation”)

river otter: otters found near rivers, lakes, streams, and freshwater wetlands, with smaller bodies and shorter fur than sea otters

sea star: an ocean invertebrate with five or more arms (often called a “starfish”)

sea urchin: a spiny marine invertebrate, usually globe-shaped

slough: a wetland area, usually connected to a larger body of water

southern sea otter: the smallest marine mammal in North America, once hunted to near-extinction for its fur

surrogate: a substitute or stand-in

tagging: the process of attaching identification, uniquely colored and numbered, used by scientists and environmentalists to track many kinds of mammals and birds

Toxoplasma gondii encephalitis: illness caused by a parasite that can result in seizures (“shaking sickness”) and death; often transmitted to otters through the waste matter from wild or domestic cats

vitals: important measures of health, including temperature, blood pressure, pulse rate, and respiratory rate (also “vital signs”)

Author’s Note

“Fiction is the lie that tells the truth, after all,” author Neil Gaiman once said, and this novel in free verse is, in fact, inspired by true—and truly impressive—events.

All the otters in this story are loosely based on real otters who’ve been fortunate enough to be cared for by the remarkable staff of the Monterey Bay Aquarium in Monterey, California. I’ve chosen to reimagine their stories by combining elements and merging time lines, but if you’re interested in the history of an individual animal, please check out the aquarium’s website, where you can learn much more (montereybayaquarium.org).

To begin with: Odder (aka “Jazz”).

Odder’s fictional backstory blends pieces of the lives of two actual Monterey Bay Aquarium SORAC (Sea Otter Research and Conservation) program otters: Joy and Selka. In 1998, Joy was found stranded when she was just a few days old. This was still early in the program, when scientists were attempting to teach Otter 101 to pups, performing the role of full-time otter moms. That included swimming with young otters in the bay to encourage their development of foraging skills and to provide opportunities for frolicking among wild sea otters. At five months of age, Joy finished her training and swam off. For three years, she continued to revisit her relationship with humans by leaping onto kayaks and docks, until she was finally declared “non-releasable” by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. After reacclimating to aquarium life, she raised sixteen orphan pups.

Selka’s story is somewhat different. She, too, was found alone as a week-old pup and cared for at the aquarium. She remained there for almost a year, but only eight weeks after she was finally released, she was found with severe shark bite injuries. Once again, she was cared for at the aquarium, but her eventual return to the wild was marred by continuing health problems. She was declared non-releasable, like Joy, and spent some time at Long Marine Laboratory with otter researchers before returning to the aquarium in 2016 to became a permanent resident and surrogate mom.

As for Kairi (aka “Twyla”), her life echoes that of Toola, the first successful surrogate mother at the aquarium, who lived from about 1996 to 2012. Toola was found stranded, stricken with toxoplasmosis, and later gave birth to a stillborn pup. As it happened, a newborn pup had been found abandoned at almost the same moment, and aquarists were able to place the pup with Toola.

Soon after that, Joy was paired with another stranded pup once he was weaned and could eat solid food. No one was certain what would happen. Unlike Toola, Joy hadn’t just given birth. But Joy proved to be a natural teacher and a loving surrogate mom.

Many of the pups raised by Joy, Selka, and Toola have gone on to thrive in the wild, raising their own pups and contributing to the health of Elkhorn Slough and Monterey Bay.

Gracie and Holly were inspired by Goldie and Hailey, two beloved otters at the aquarium who lived to ripe old ages.

Eliminating the element of human bonding has been crucial to positive outcomes for the surrogacy program. The use of Darth Vader disguises—welder’s helmets and dark ponchos—proved to be an additional way to ensure that otter pups wouldn’t bond with humans during their time at the aquarium. And with real otters as teachers, it was no longer necessary for aquarists to take otters on diving excursions, like the one where Joy escaped.

Odder’s story of “the Fifty” refers to the miraculous discovery of around fifty sea otters in the waters near Big Sur in California in 1938. By that time, fur traders and hunters had killed off most of the sea otter population during what is referred to as the California Fur Rush. Over time, with the help of conservation efforts and legislation, that tiny population has grown to about three thousand otters living in a much smaller piece of their original range.

The IUCN (International Union for Conservation of Nature) maintains a list of endangered species, often called the Red List. Sea otters are currently listed as endangered.

The Monterey Bay Aquarium has had amazing success saving stranded and orphaned baby otters, and its work is being studied and replicated all over the world. If you are ever in California, it’s absolutely worth a visit.

The world is lucky indeed to have the folks at the MBA Sea Otter Rescue and Conservation program working tirelessly to heal the ocean, one otter at a time.

An otter with her pup.

Spend an hour watching otters frolic, and you’ll come away forever changed.

Acknowledgments

Nobody makes books with more love and care than the team at Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan, and I’m so grateful to be a part of their family. Huge thanks go to Liz Szabla, my editor, whose insight and talent is matched by her kindness. Other amazing members of the team include:

Jean Feiwel, publisher

Rich Deas, senior creative director

Helen Seachrist, senior production editor

Starr Baer, copy editor

the MCPG marketing and publicity folks, especially Chantal Gersch, Mary Van Akin, and Elysse Villalobos

Jennifer Edwards and the incomparable sales force

I’m also deeply grateful to:

the remarkable Charles Santoso, for Odder’s beautiful cover and interior illustrations

Elena Giovinazzo, my wonderful agent at Pippin Properties, for her wisdom and advocacy

Mary Cate Stevenson and Noah Nofz at Two Cats Communications for … well, a little bit of everything

Gennifer Choldenko, who is equally talented at friendship and at writing

the Rogue Colors, always there for solace and a good laugh

my friends and family, who know a whole lot more about otters than they did a year ago

and book people of all stripes, especially booksellers, teachers, and librarians: heroes always, but especially these days

For anyone interested in learning more about sea otters, I highly recommend starting with Todd McLeish’s entertaining and fascinating book, Return of the Sea Otter, for an in-depth look at the history and hopes surrounding these captivating creatures.

While I am deeply indebted to the staff members of the Monterey Bay Aquarium for their help with my research, any mistakes are entirely my responsibility.

Special thanks go to Teri Nicholson, senior research biologist at Monterey Bay Aquarium, and to Sandrine Hazan, stranding and rehabilitation manager—sea otters, for their truly helpful input (both scientific and fictional).

Selected Bibliography

- Davis, Randall W., and Anthony M. Pagano, eds. Ethology and Behavioral Ecology of Sea Otters and Polar Bears. New York: Springer, 2021.

- Kruuk, Hans. Otters: Ecology, Behaviour and Conservation. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2006.

- McLeish, Todd. Return of the Sea Otter: The Story of the Animal that Evaded Extinction on the Pacific Coast. Seattle, WA: Sasquatch Books, 2018.

- Palumbi, Stephen R., and Carolyn Sotka. The Death and Life of Monterey Bay: A Story of Revival. Washington, DC: Island Press, 2011.

- Ravalli, Richard. Sea Otters: A History. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2018.

- Thomas, Tim, and Dennis Copeland. Images of America: Monterey’s Waterfront. Charleston, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2006.

resources for young readers

print

- Buhrman-Deever, Susannah. If You Take Away the Otter. Somerville, MA: Candlewick Press, 2020.

- Groc, Isabelle. Sea Otters: A Survival Story. Victoria, BC: Orca Book Publishers, 2020.

- Hall, Howard. Jean-Michel Cousteau Presents: The Secrets of Kelp Forests: Life’s Ebb and Flow in the Sea’s Richest Habitat. Montrose, CA: London Town Press, 2007.

- Newman, Patricia. Sea Otter Heroes: The Predators that Saved an Ecosystem. Minneapolis, MN: Millbrook Press, 2017.

- Riedman, Marianne. Sea Otters. Monterey, CA: Monterey Bay Aquarium, 1990.

- Rothman, Julia. Ocean Anatomy: The Curious Parts and Pieces of the World Under the Sea. North Adams, MA: Storey Publishing, 2020.

online

Monterey Bay Aquarium: montereybayaquarium.org

Monterey Bay Aquarium Sea Otter Cam: montereybayaquarium.org/animals/live-cams /sea-otter-cam

Elkhorn Slough OtterCam: elkhornslough.org/ottercam

Thank you for reading this Feiwel & Friends book. The friends who made Odder possible are:

Jean Feiwel, Publisher

Liz Szabla, VP, Associate Publisher

Rich Deas, Senior Creative Director

Holly West, Senior Editor

Anna Roberto, Senior Editor

Kat Brzozowski, Senior Editor

Dawn Ryan, Executive Managing Editor

Kim Waymer, Senior Production Manager

Emily Settle, Editor

Rachel Diebel, Associate Editor

Foyinsi Adegbonmire, Associate Editor

Brittany Groves, Assistant Editor

Mallory Grigg, Senior Art Director

Helen Seachrist, Senior Production Editor

Follow us on Facebook or visit us online at mackids.com. Our books are friends for life.

About the Author

Katherine Applegate is the #1 New York Times–bestselling author of beloved and award-winning books for young readers, including Home of the Brave, Crenshaw, Wishtree, Willodeen, and The One and Only Ivan, for which she won the Newbery Medal. She is also the author of the Animorphs series and a beginning reader series, Doggo and Pupper, illustrated by Charlie Alder. Katherine Applegate lives in Southern California with her family. Visit her online at katherineapplegate.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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Text copyright © 2022 by Katherine Applegate. Illustrations copyright © 2022 by Charles Santoso. Photos here and here: Suzi Eszterhas/Minden Pictures.

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First hardcover edition/First paperback edition 2022

eBook edition 2022

eISBN 9781250147431

Contents

1. Title Page

2. Copyright Notice

3. Dedication

4. Epigraph

5. one

6. the queen of play

7. two

8. how to be an otter pup

9. three

10. otter #209

11. coda

12. six months later

13. Glossary

14. Author’s Note

15. Acknowledgments

16. Selected Bibliography

17. About the Author

18. Copyright