Otter Chaos - The Dam Busters. Michael Broad

don’t want any trouble.”

      Mama Black and Mama Brown made their husbands promise to be safe and to look after the old boxers, whose advancing years had done nothing to quell their fighting spirit. Then the two wives hugged and rubbed noses with their husbands, waved them off and herded the young otters back to the lodge.

      Along the way the mother otters answered questions about beavers from Coal and Beanie, calmed fears of fish-oil shortages from Coco and Berry and told the two sets of twins to stop squabbling, all the while assuring Grandma Maple that Grandpa Bruno would return in one piece. So it was no wonder they failed to notice that two young pups were missing.

      Woody and Sooty had crept away to spy on the elder males, swimming silently as they approached the dam. Then they hid behind an overhanging tree and watched as Papa Black and Papa Brown called into the entrance of the beaver lodge. The grandpas were grumbling and growling like a pair of grumpy gargoyles.

      “Hello?” called Papa Black.

      “Is there anyone home?” added Papa Brown.

      “They must be home,” said Grandpa Jack.

      “Eating our fish, no doubt!” snorted Grandpa Bruno.

      “Stop that,” warned Papa Brown. “We’re being polite, remember?”

      Papa Black was about to call into the dark hole once again when he heard movement from inside. The four otters stepped back just as a big rust-coloured beaver stepped out, bleary-eyed and scratching his head.

      “What’s all this noise about?” he growled, and then yawned. The beaver had obviously been fast asleep and didn’t appreciate being woken up. “Don’t you know I work nights?”

      “Well, that’s what we’ve come about,” said Papa Black, motioning to the felled tree and mesh of branches blocking the flow of water. “You appear to have spent the whole night building a dam that happens to be very close to our lodge.”

      “Our river level is now rather low and moves much more slowly,” added Papa Brown, seeing how high the river was on the other side of the dam. “And it also appears to be entirely fish free.”

      “So?” said the beaver.

      “We were wondering if you wouldn’t mind moving it somewhere else,” Papa Black smiled, hopefully. “You see, there are eighteen otters already living on this section of river, all with hearty appetites, and we were here first.”

      There was a long silence during which the frowning beaver seemed to consider the otter’s suggestion to move. He looked at the four adult otters in front of him; he looked at the two young otters hiding behind an overhanging tree branch, and then he looked up at his dam.

      “No,” said the beaver, and made his way back inside the den.

      “Ooh, let me at ’im!” growled Grandpa Bruno, already swinging his paws, but Grandpa Jack held him back until the moment passed.

      Suddenly, the beaver reappeared, followed by five other beavers.

      “This is my wife, Twiggy,” he said, motioning to the eldest female, who had obviously heard everything and was scowling at the otter intruders. “And those are my daughters, Holly, Willow and Hazel – also known as the Saw Sisters.”

      “The sore what?” asked Papa Brown.

      “The Saw Sisters,” the beaver repeated proudly. “They can fell a tree in thirty seconds and have won prizes for bark-stripping, stick-stacking and branch-breaking. You name it – they’ve won prizes for it.”

      The three grown-up daughters ground their huge teeth menacingly.

      “My name is Chuck,” the beaver concluded, and folded his arms defiantly. “And after we spent the whole night building a brand-new dam and cosy lodge to live in, we’re not going anywhere!”

      “You forgot one!” yelled Woody from behind the rustling branch.

      It was then that the head beaver frowned and remembered the youngest member of his family. The kit was standing behind his sisters, scratching in the muddy ground with a stick.

      “Oh,” said Chuck with obvious disappointment. “That’s Chip.”

      The young kit lifted his head at the mention of his name and smiled at the adult otters. Then he saw the otter pups behind the tree and waved at them.

      “Chip was meant to be a chip off the old block and take over my dam-building business,” growled Chuck, clearly comfortable sharing his parental sorrows with perfect strangers. “But all he does is scratch around in the mud.”

      “He does his best,” sighed Twiggy, patting Chip’s head.

      “Hmmm,” grumbled Chuck.

      “Now look here!” growled Papa Brown, thinking that the head beaver was trying to get his own way by changing the subject. “We were here first, so according to river rules that means—”

      “Don’t you live in Grinder Grime’s old place?” interrupted Chuck.

      “Well, we didn’t know his name, but it was an abandoned beaver lodge,” said Papa Brown. “That’s not the point, though. Cottonwood Lodge is our home now and—”

      “Beavers were here first, then,” said Chuck, thumping the muddy ground with his wide, flat tail. “So maybe it’s the otters who should move instead!”

      “I’ll show you who needs to move, and I’ll even give you a hand!” growled Grandpa Bruno, swinging his right hook before Grandpa Jack could hold him back.

      Twiggy and the Saw Sisters joined Chuck and started thumping their tails in steady, war-like drumbeats that were obviously intended to warn off attackers. And it appeared to work. Having promised their wives to stay out of trouble and look after the old boxers, Papa Brown and Papa Black exchanged a few mumbles and retreated, tugging Grandpa Jack and Grandpa Bruno away with them before they charged the dam.

      The beavers looked very pleased with themselves as they bundled back inside the lodge. All except Chip, who paused to prod the dam with his stick, frowned at it, and then followed his family inside.

      Woody and Sooty left their overhanging branch and hurried after their elders, who were swimming back downstream. Their fathers were up front, with their grandpas close behind still grumbling about honour and bravery and wanting to give Chuck the beaver a knuckle sandwich. The two young pups trailed behind everyone, looking and feeling completely deflated.

      “I can’t believe our dads backed down,” said Woody.

      “I think the beavers are very selfish,” retorted Sooty.

      “Shellfish!” gasped Woody. “No more clams and mussels!”

      “And no more crayfish,” gasped Sooty. “No more fish at all!”

      “I don’t think we’ll be able to stay here if there’re no fish,” sighed Woody. “And I like living together. It’s so much more fun than when our families lived in separate dens.”

      “You don’t think we’ll have to split up, do you?” asked Sooty.

      “I don’t know,” said Woody. “But I doubt there are many other dens that two families would fit in so comfortably.”

      The young pups looked ahead at their fathers, who they thought must be feeling pretty awful after their confrontation with the beavers ended so badly. Just then Papa Black and Papa Brown looked back and caught the looks on Sooty and Woody’s faces.

      “Cheer up, otters!” smiled Papa Black, with a twinkle in his eye.

      “Last one