A new years resolution

Another new year and boy has it started with a bang! Snow fuelled chaos has been the highlight of the year so far for many but never fear, apart from snowball fights and Frosty the snowman, the white stuff is pretty handy. Mammals cannot hide. Unless they develop a slick method of floating, you are pretty much guaranteed to see footprints wherever an animal has been. Bonus for me. I have been able to see the Ouseburn Otter's every move and while I still can't find him (typical Ouseburn Otter style), I do know a little bit more about his movements, with hardly any extra effort! However, my new years resolution for 2010 is to be a little more forgiving of Mr O. I am currently reading a book called The Otter in Britain (a lovely present from the legendary Bob Wilkin) and it has definitely given me an insight into why the otter is just so darn camera shy. Never mind the ye olde english style of writing, this poem by William Somerville (called The Chace and written way back in 1735) shows just how persecuted this poor critter has been for a long, long time. I too, would have developed a crafty instinct had a poem like this been written about me. Here we go. It gets quite gory - you have been warned.

On the soft sand
See there his seal impress'd! And on that bank
Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish,
Scales, fins and bones, the leavings of his feast.
Ah! On that yielding sag-bed, see, once more
His seal I view. O'er yon dark rushy marsh
The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course,
And seeks distant shallows.

See, there he drives along!
The ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way.
Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat
Into the shelt'ring deeps. Ah, there he vents!
The pack plunge headlong, and protended spears
Menace destruction.

Ah, there once more he vents!
See, that blood hound has seiz'd him: down they sink,
Together lost: but soon shall be repent
His rash assault. See there escap'd, he flies
Half drown'd, and clambers up the slipp'ry bank
With ooze and blood distain'd. Again he vents:
Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierc'd
His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound.
Fix'd is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest,
Where're he flies; with him it sinks beneath,
With him it mounts; sure guide to ev'ry foe.
Inly he groans, nor can his tender wound
Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank
He creeps disconsolate; his numerous foes
Surround him, hounds and men. Pierc'd through and through
On pointed spears they lift him high in air;
Wriggling he hangs, and grins and bites in vain.

So there you have it. But lets turn to the Haugh otter now. I don't think his ancestors were ever hunted, even back then I reckon they were tough, used to laugh at the dogs if they ever tried to come near them. In fact, the book gives a few accounts of otters actually being 'one of the dogs', trained to run alongside what should be their enemies. One particular pack of dogs even refused to hunt wild otters when their otter-mate was with them. I mean get a load of this bad boy. I certainly wouldn't mess with him!