Saving Otters

Buddy, a young male giant otter, eating his first fish breakfast at Karanambu.

Diane was determined that Buddy should begin learning a few lessons on Day 2 of his stay at Karanambu.

The first was where to poop and pee.  His designated otter latrine was a recessed area of cement in one corner of the pen.  Diane began the latrine training by placing a small pile of Buddy’s scat in the appropriate corner. This strategy works well for some otters, but Buddy had his own ideas.

When we checked on him the next morning, he’d used the middle of the pen.  Diane pretended to scold him, though her tone was soft.  “Oh, my, you terrible little otter, you.  That won’t do!”

Buddy depositing his scat–in the wrong place

Diane cleaned up the mess on the floor, and poured some straight Pine-Sol over the area so that it would horrible.  Unfortunately, this didn’t work.   Our next idea was to put bricks in his way–I spread them out in the places where he’d made his mistakes.  This method also failed, as you can see in this photo.

We estimated it would take Buddy a good two weeks to get it right.  All we could do was to repeat the same routine until he figured it out.

Diane drying Buddy with towels.

The second lesson Buddy had to learn was that it’s okay to be dried off by a human with a towel.  The idea here is to make sure the otter doesn’t go to sleep with wet fur.  In the wild, they’d normally dry themselves by rolling in sand before crawling into their dens, or holts.  Buddy responded as if this were a new game.  He’s playing with Diane and the towels in this photo, while she is trying not to get bitten.

Buddy’s fly strike wounds the day after his arrival at Karanambu

For his fly strike, I checked Buddy’s wounds each day for fresh maggots, and started him on the antibiotic ciprofloxacin.   The good news was that I found only three larvae on the second day, and none thereafter.  The bad news was that he hadn’t yet stopped licking himself, which meant he could easily develop a new infection.  Diane and I were still optimistic that his behavior would change once he got into the routine of spending most of his day on the river.  Buddy took his medicine easily–we simply hid the tablet inside the stomach of one of his fish.

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Buddy eating his fish outside the pen.

By Day 4, Buddy had learned to follow Diane in and out of his pen.  This meant he was ready to be taught that fish are eaten outside, either at the water bowl—as shown in this picture—or down at the river.  This saves both time and water.  Now, during the wet season, there’s enough water to empty and refill his pool in order to clean it as needed.

In the dry season, though, this can be a major issue.

Buddy following Johnny down to the river

To help her take care of Buddy, Diane chose several of the boys who live on the ranch, including two of Ryol’s sons, to be the otter “capatashes.”  In some ways, these kids have the best part of the job.   Though they do have to clean the pen—and go fishing at least once, if not twice a day—they also get to swim with Buddy.

The next step was to teach Buddy to follow Diane and the boys down to the river for a swim.  He readily accepted this new routine, as shown here.  Indeed, by the second day, he was enjoying the outing so much that he began to resist returning to his pen for the night—even for bits of fish offered along the way.  It may be that sooner, rather than later, Buddy will be sleeping out on his own.  It’s his choice.

Buddy and the boys playing fetch

Diane’s ongoing challenge is to keep the otter capatashes from getting so distracted by other things, like just being boys that they forget to keep an eye on Buddy.   The fact is they’d be down at the river swimming and hanging out whether they were supposed to be taking care of the otter, or not.  Yes, they’re paid for the work, but it’s a tiny amount of money (it’s for this reason that we’re trying to raise money for the Karanambu Trust–to help with these costs.)

Judging from his behavior, Buddy had obviously grown up swimming and playing with children.  From my perspective, this was a good thing, as it made it easy for the boys to show interest in him.

Diane playing get-the-mango with Buddy

Perhaps the most important lesson for Buddy is to come when he’s called.  In some ways, Diane has little control over him at this stage, compared to her nurturing of the orphans she raised from young cubs.  This means that if he gets into trouble, by following a boat, for example, she may not be able to call him back.  If he weren’t so tame, maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad thing.  After all, the goal is for him to return to the river as a wild otter.  But an animal of his size that thinks every fish belongs to him is asking for trouble in the midst of so many fisherman.

One thing Buddy did learn quickly – how to play with mangos.   I was amazed how quickly he learned this game!

Once in the transport crate, Buddy immediately started trying to get out.  He jammed his nose between the plastic frame and the metal rim of the door, and pushed, creating a space almost large enough for his head.  Thank goodness for those bungee cords.  Even so, it looked as though he’d soon be successful.  Without thinking about how much the thing weighed, I grabbed the crate and carried it as fast as I could to the Land Rover.  If Buddy escaped into the back of the car, at least he couldn’t run straight for the river.  (The next day, I had a very sore lower back.)

Now I was really anxious to get going.  I ran back to Diane and tugged at her arm, pulling her away from her goodbyes and apologizing that I felt we simply had to get on the road.  It was already after 11 o’clock and getting hotter by the minute–and  the drive to Karanambu would take at least seven hours, if not longer.  It had rained overnight, so there was no way we’d try the shortcut on the way back.

Transporting Buddy the otter from Iwokrama to Karanambu in the old red Land Rover

As we climbed into the Land Rover, I urged Diane to sit next to me on the middle seat so that we could both tend to Buddy in the back as needed.  I felt we should leave him alone for now; most animals settle down once they feel the rocking motion of a vehicle.  Diane disagreed.  She insisted on being next to the crate so that she could speak to him soothingly.   This meant sitting on a hard, narrow seat with very little room for her long legs.

I argued with her, reminding her that she’d broken her hip badly in a car accident last year.  The last thing she needed to do was sit in an uncomfortable position for a long bumpy ride.  I also felt that the sound of her voice would only upset Buddy more.  But I was overruled.  Before I could stop her, Diane had climbed into the back next to her new beloved beast.   She took a book out of her bag—the signed copy of The Rhino with Glue-on Shoes I’d just given her—and decided to read the otter a few stories!

Diane McTurk with Buddy the otter in his transport crate–about to read RHINO

While Diane spoke softly to Buddy, I covered his crate with a towel to give him some shade and arranged things so that he could catch a little breeze from the open windows.   We had a long drive ahead, and the main risk to his health was overheating, or hyperthermia.  Fortunately, the weather appeared to be cooperating.  It was partly cloudy, and would stay that way for most of our drive through the rain forest.

As I’d feared, Buddy reacted to the sound of Diane’s voice by scratching even harder at the door and crying, “Raa Raa Reeahh,” which translates to “I want”—to get out of here, or to eat some fish.  Diane responded with, “Oh my poor beloved beast.  You must be famished.  We barely fed you any breakfast.”   She turned to me.   “Can’t we feed him just a tiny piece of fish?  He’s asking for it.”

“Nope,” I said.  “No way.”    I had to hold my ground on this one.  Since I was along for the ride as a vet, there had to be a few rules.  Feeding the otter would only create a mess (otters almost always poop after they eat), and might even make him carsick.  Though Buddy was in good body condition, the last thing he needed was to slide around in a fishy crate.  Instead, I squirted some water into the crate, and he readily drank it.   I repeated the offering, this time with the tip of a soda bottle.  To our amazement, Buddy went right for it, figuring out how to wrap his lips around the plastic nozzle.

Buddy, a juvenile male giant otter–before his transport from Iwokrama to Karanambu

Diane continued talking to Buddy.  There’s something about the sound of her voice that otters find irresistible—unfortunately, in this case, as it draws them to her.  The more she spoke, the more upset Buddy became.  Soon he was screaming loudly and biting at the wire mesh.  Now he was at risk of damaging his teeth, as well as overheating from becoming so frantic.  I repositioned the towel, tried to distract the otter with more water, and asked Diane, rather firmly, if she could please just not say a word, at least not for a while.   She nodded reluctantly.

As I turned back to the front to refill my water bottle, repeating that I thought we’d all be better off if she’d sit in the middle seat with me, Diane exclaimed, “Oh, no!  He’s out!”

Buddy had pushed his nose against the top of the crate with such force that the upper hinge of the crate door popped out of its hole.  Seeing a glimmer of light, he pushed harder, creating a hole big enough for his head.  I lunged toward the crate and jammed door back in place, holding the top part in place with my thumbs.  Buddy was not about to give up.  He went for the bottom hinge, popped it free, and had his whole head out the bottom half of the door before I body-blocked him back inside.  At that point, all I could do was crouch in front of the crate door and hold it in place with both knees and hands.  Somehow we needed to get the hinges back in their holes.

By then Ryol had stopped the car.  He looked back at us and asked if he could help. Diane and I replied, in perfect unison, “Oh no, everything’s fine!”

Actually, it helped a great deal not to be flying over all those bumps in the road while we got ourselves readjusted.  Diane grabbed the water bottle and managed to distract Buddy long enough for me to tilt the metal frame of the door and slide the hinges back in place.  Phew.  I asked Ryol how much longer.  The sooner we got to Karanambu the better.  He frowned and said, “About four hours, maybe five.”

The main road (Lethem–Georgetown), near the turn-off to Karanambu

We continued on, but the otter had figured out what to do, and seconds later he was back at it.  From that point on, our seating arrangements took on a new configuration.   I sat in the back on top of the crate, so that my weight would keep pressure on the doorframe.  Whenever I felt Buddy moving about, I bent down and held the hinges in place with my thumbs.  It was uncomfortable, but not unbearable, and I was determined to ride it out.  Diane moved into the middle seat and, with some difficulty, remained silent.

Finally, Buddy settled down.

Much as we would have liked to make it back to the ranch before dark, that just wasn’t possible.  The road was bumpy, and Ryol could drive only so fast.  By the time the sun had set, we’d just turned off the main road toward Karanambu.  With about an hour left to go, we hit our first major roadblock of the day—a downed tree.  Ryol dutifully got out of the car, grabbed his machete, and began to cut down a massive tangle of wood and brush.  He left the Land Rover running of course, since the starter was still broken.  Within minutes I could barely breathe.  The fumes were awful in the back where I sat with Buddy.

Together, Diane and I moved the otter’s crate out onto the road at a little distance from the car—and there I sat, in the pitch dark, on top of a plastic dog crate containing a giant otter.  Before long, I noticed that his breathing was slow and steady.  Free of the bumps and rattles, he’d fallen sound asleep.

Silently, I asked myself a familiar question:  What in the world am I doing here?  The answer came quickly, as it always does:  when the animals need our help, it’s our responsibility to do what we can.  There’s no reason we can’t live in balance with nature and its creatures.  We just have to try.  I hoped we’d met our last obstacle of the day.

[To be continued. . . .]