The dominant otter

When G and I were camping recently, we went for a bike ride around the edge of a large lake. We started out on a definite trail, but that wasn't nearly adventurous for us, so we struck out on a less-traveled dirt road. Evidently that's where they put the good stuff because we saw a couple of otters.

G was in the lead, and I heard him say something about a bird in the water. Then he muttered something about maybe an otter. I immediately turned back since otters are some of my favorite animals. G was skeptical that there would be anything to look at, but he reluctantly circled back as well.

When he made it back to me and the otters (there were two, and they had caught a big fish), I was speaking to them. They were making a sound that's hard to describe. It was similar to the sound a horse makes (not a whinny, but the sound you can make by blowing air out of your mouth while letting your lips flap together. You know that noise?) with a high pitched whistle in there, too.

So the otters would make the sound, and then I would imitate it. I really felt like we were speaking because they were looking at me and everything. I was communing (and communicating) with nature.

When G arrived, he made the noise at the otters, too. And the otters swam away with their big fish. We decided G was too good at the noise and had scared them off because he was dominant. My husband, the dominant otter.