An Otter Called Pebble Read online

  “Your mum told me you were strong-willed,” he said. “I’m beginning to understand what she meant.”

  “So will you try?”

  There was a long pause.

  “All right,” he said, eventually. “I’ll bring Pebble to the location this evening. Dusk is the best time for a release. Don’t tell anyone except your parents, OK? And I’ll need to arrange access. Can you give me the farmer’s name and number?”

  Jasmine beamed at Tom in triumph.

  “His name is Angus Mizon,” she said.

  “And he’ll be happy for us to access his land?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Jasmine. “He’ll be delighted.”

  Neil arrived at the farm just before eight o’clock that evening. When his van pulled up in the yard, Tom and Jasmine rushed out to see Pebble.

  Neil opened the doors at the back of the van to reveal a cage covered in a blanket.

  “It’s best to keep it dark until we get to the location,” he said. “She’ll stay calmer that way.”

  “Can we have a quick look at her?” pleaded Jasmine. “Just to say hello?”

  Neil lifted the edge of the blanket. Huddled in the corner of the cage, looking out at them with big bright eyes, was the little otter.

  “Hello, Pebble,” whispered Jasmine. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Don’t be frightened, Pebble,” whispered Tom. “We think we’ve found your family.”

  Jasmine wished she could cuddle her, but she knew she couldn’t. Pebble’s mother would never take her back if she smelled of humans.

  “Did you know a group of otters is called a romp?” said Neil.

  “A romp of otters,” said Tom. “That’s exactly what they were.”

  To the astonishment of Jasmine’s parents, Angus Mizon had insisted that Jasmine and Tom were present at the release. He came out of his house as they arrived. Neil introduced himself and Angus Mizon gave him a grim nod. Jasmine and Tom smiled at him and he nodded back, straight-faced.

  “He doesn’t want to ruin his image,” Jasmine whispered. “He would have smiled if Neil wasn’t here.”

  They set out across the fields, Neil carrying Pebble in her blanket-covered case.

  “Shall we watch from the bridge again?” asked Jasmine.

  “That’s probably the best place,” said Neil, “as long as the wind’s in the right direction.”

  When they came to the field where they had seen the otters, Tom said, “See that bridge down there? That’s where the holt is, on this side of the bridge.”

  “So if we stand on the bridge,” said Neil, “we’ll be downwind of the otters. We’ll head across the top of this field until we’re past the bridge, and then approach it from the other side. We can’t risk our scent being carried on the wind.”

  They walked along the top of the field, next to the hedge. Once they were past the bridge, they began to walk down towards the river.

  “You go up on the bridge,” Neil murmured. “I’ll release Pebble near the holt. I’m going to rub her with her bedding straw to disguise any human scent on her. Otters use smell to communicate, so we need to make sure Pebble only smells of herself. That way, her mum’s much more likely to recognise and accept her.”

  Jasmine’s heart beat fast as they stood on the bridge and watched Neil set down the cage. Please let this work, she pleaded silently. Please let this be Pebble’s family, and please let them take her back.

  Neil slowly removed the blanket, and Pebble looked around at her new surroundings. Tom was filming the scene. Neil pulled on a pair of thick gloves. He opened the top of the cage, grabbed handfuls of Pebble’s bedding straw and rubbed her fur with it.

  Still wearing the gloves, Neil picked Pebble up by the scruff of her neck and carried her towards the holt. He set her down a few metres from the entrance, away from the river. Then he joined Tom and Jasmine on the bridge.

  They stood in silence, watching Pebble. She reached her head up and looked around her. She took a few tentative steps across the grass. She looked hopelessly vulnerable, all alone on the riverbank.

  Then she lifted her head up and gave a loud chirp. Jasmine held her breath. Would Pebble’s whistle bring her mother out to find her?

  Nothing happened. The riverbank was still.

  Pebble whistled again. And this time, Jasmine was sure she heard a rustling in the undergrowth.

  Pebble gave another whistle.

  Leaves rustled. A twig cracked. And the broad brown furry face of the mother otter appeared from between two mossy logs.

  Jasmine waited, her hands gripping the rail of the bridge. What would happen now?

  The mother gave a loud whistle. Pebble whistled back. The mother reared up on her hind legs and looked around. Pebble gambolled towards her, chirping loudly. The mother got down on all fours and sniffed the cub. Pebble jumped on to her back and the mother leaned round and sniffed her bottom. Then she sniffed Pebble’s fur all over.

  “If the mother licks her,” whispered Neil, “we’ll know she’s accepted her.”

  Jasmine held her breath. Please let the mother recognise her, she thought. Please let Pebble smell right.

  The mother rolled over on to her back. Pebble climbed on top of her. The mother licked her.

  She recognised her! She knew this was her baby, and she was taking her back.

  Neil grinned at the children and made a thumbs-up sign. Jasmine squeezed Tom’s arm. “We did it!” she whispered.

  “We did it,” whispered Tom. “They’re back together again.”

  From the holt emerged the little furry face of a cub just like Pebble. It gave a high-pitched whistle and scampered over to join its mother. Then the other cub’s face appeared, and it ran towards its family.

  The cubs jumped on their mother and started to play fight with Pebble, making funny little catlike growls and squeaks.

  “They look like they’re having so much fun,” said Tom. “Pebble looks so happy to be back with her family.”

  “Yes,” said Jasmine. “She really does.”

  Neil turned and smiled at them. “Congratulations, you two. This is pretty amazing.”

  It really was amazing, Jasmine thought. Everyone had said there was almost no chance it could happen. But it had happened. It was happening right now.

  The mother rolled over and joined in the play fight. And then all four otters were rolling around and chirping together on the riverbank, in the golden sunset glow. And the three people on the bridge stood and watched them, until the sun finally disappeared over the horizon and the last rays of light faded from the sky.

  When Jasmine and Tom returned to the farmhouse, Ella and Manu were sitting at the kitchen table with Mum and Dad. Toffee and Marmite were curled up in their basket by the Aga stove. When Jasmine sat down, Marmite uncurled herself, stretched luxuriously and jumped on to Jasmine’s lap.

  “I’ve made hot chocolate,” said Mum. “Would you like some?”

  “And I made biscuits,” said Manu, opening a cake tin.

  “Terrifying,” said Ella. “Who dares go first?”

  “Don’t be mean,” said Mum. “They’re not at all bad.”

  “Mum sent me some photos of the otter cub. She looked gorgeous,” said Ella. “I got you something.” She handed Jasmine a bag.

  It was a beautiful otter cub toy, with silky brown fur, white whiskers and bright black eyes.

  Jasmine got up and gave Ella a hug. “Thank you so much. I love her.”

  “It looks just like Pebble,” said Tom.

  “I’ll call her Pebble, too,” said Jasmine. “And whenever I look at her I’ll be reminded of the real Pebble, living in the wild.”

  Manu handed Jasmine a biscuit and she took a very small bite. It was surprisingly nice. She took a bigger bite.

  She thought of Pebble and her family on the riverbank, grooming each other and play fighting, so happy to be back together again.

  Of course, Manu was deeply annoying most of the time. Probably Pebble’s brother and sister were, too. But all in all, Jasmine thought, despite all the annoying bits, it was really quite nice to be part of a family.

  Acknowledgements

  I am very grateful to Charlotte Owens at the Sussex Wildlife Trust, Jason Palmer and the keepers at the New Forest Wildlife Park, and Jane Stevens at Mull Otter Group, for invaluable help and advice when I was researching and planning this story. Thank you so much for giving up your time to answer my questions.

  Copyright

  First published in the UK in 2019 by Nosy Crow Ltd

  The Crow’s Nest, 14 Baden Place,

  Crosby Row, London SE1 1YW, UK

  Nosy Crow and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Nosy Crow Ltd

  Text copyright © Helen Peters, 2019

  Cover and illustrations copyright © Ellie Snowdon, 2019

  The right of Helen Peters and Ellie Snowdon to be identified as the author and illustrator respectively of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of Nosy Crow Ltd.

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A.

  Papers used by Nosy Crow are made from wood grown in sustainable f
orests.

  ISBN: 978 1 78800 156 4

  eISBN: 978 1 78800 157 1

  www.nosycrow.com

 

 

  Helen Peters, An Otter Called Pebble

 

 

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