Otter walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He had a few redwood needles stuck to his long, black hair. He grabbed a bowl and joined the chow line. By way of answering a question that wasn’t asked, Marjorie said he’d be staying with them for a few days while he looked for another place.
“Rabbit kicked me out.” Otter looked mournfully sad, and Marty felt sorry for him. He was a rough-looking character, but was usually upbeat and direct, with a contagious air of confidence. His unkempt mop of hair and mustache full of redwood needles reminded Marty of a homeless person, although he wisely kept that image to himself. He liked Otter, a crusty but gentle soul whose good cheer could be attributed to the extraordinary quantities of beer he drank, but it made him favorable company nonetheless. “I’m camping down by the picnic table.” Today he sounded lost and disconnected, and everyone could feel his pain. He and Rabbit had been partners for years.
“Is your name really Otter?” Marty asked, proud of himself for cleverly changing to a cheery subject.
“No, it’s Patrick,” sighed Otter miserably, “Rabbit calls me – I mean called me Otter – she came up with that name.” His face took on a melancholy pallor, and he swallowed hard. Embarrassed, he smiled wanly and took his bowl of beans outside. Marty felt like a heel. Otter and Rabbit… who would have thought such cute little animals could have relationship problems?
Later, as evening clamped a lid over the forest, Marty took Heidi outside “for a walk,” and visited Otter down at the fire ring. He was easy to talk to (for an adult), without a trace of the judgmental filters that Marty had come to expect from most people over 20. “I’m sorry you and Rabbit aren’t together anymore,” he said with the simple sincerity of a child learning how to be a man.
The rugged outdoorsman poked the fire thoughtfully with a stick, and said with profundity, “We all come into this world alone, and we all gotta leave it alone.”
“Well, that’s not really true, because wasn’t your mom actually there when you were born?” Marty couldn’t resist a humorous riposte of logic, which was a service he provided to the world, free of charge.
“She actually died giving birth to me…” Otter sniffled softly, and looked as if he was going to cry. Marty felt horrible, and wanted to jump in the campfire. Then the crafty Inuit slapped Marty on the knee and yapped like a husky. “Haha, haha, haha! Gotcha!! You really thought I was serious!” He laughed long and hard. Marty wanted to throw him into the fire. What could he say? It was a great comeback…
They fell silent as the fire popped and hissed, and he thought of how incredibly cool it was to be sitting next to a campfire in his own front yard. Otter was still chuckling softly behind his thick mustache – or was he sobbing about Rabbit? Heidi wandered off somewhere, no doubt fascinated by all the new smells. Marty reflected on his own parents’ acrimonious split, and hoped Otter and Rabbit didn’t hate each other. They talked for a while as it got darker.
“What I meant was, you always gotta face your problems alone. People can help each other of course, but when it comes right down to it, you gotta be the one to learn from your own shit. Nobody can teach you that.” The light flickered in Otter’s dark eyes. Marty poked the embers with a stick, and watched them rise into the moist nighttime air.
Suddenly, from off behind a cluster of redwoods, Heidi started yelping and barking crazily. Marty called her, and could hear some other snarling sounds, as if a pack of wildcats got stuck in a washing machine. His hair stood up on end. “Heidi!” he yelled, and brave Otter immediately plunged into the bushes like a warrior. Marty hesitated with alarm, looking down at his little fire-poking stick and wondering if he should go get some help. Then the barks and snarls turned into fighting sounds, and he instinctively followed his friend into the bushes. In the filtered moonlight, he saw a vague, furry bear-shape on the ground, wrestling with Heidi, whose white patches were visible in the dimness. Otter yelled loudly and kicked the thing a few yards away, then grabbed the dog and put her on his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“Git outta here!” He commanded sharply, as if they were in a war movie, and galloped past Marty, who followed right on his heels, looking over his shoulder and thinking some huge, ravenous bear was going to leap out of the darkness and attack him, too.
They reached the cabin and burst in the door like doctors into an emergency room, and Marge leaped off the couch where she’d been necking with Jimbo. Marty could see the poor dog was bleeding profusely from a large open gash on her front leg, and staining Otter’s t-shirt. She only weighed about twenty pounds, and he gently set her down on a blanket like an injured child. “She was attacked by a big raccoon!” he announced with grim fascination, and Supermom sprang into action. Faster than a speeding bullet, she produced a first aid kit from deep in a box somewhere, and smothered the flaming situation with competence.
“Hold this on her leg!” she thrust a gauze pad at Marty. “Get my sewing kit!” she commanded to Julie, who had come out of her room due to all the excitement. “Boil some water!” she barked at Jimbo, who was still on the couch, sitting on his hands in astonishment. “Don’t look,” she advised Susie, who was most certainly going to look. “Thank you, Patrick,” she sniffed, barely holding back the tears. “Do you have any pot?” Marty couldn’t fathom why she would want to get stoned at a time like this.
Otter produced his carved soapstone pipe. “Here. I’ll go put out the campfire,” he added in that thoughtful, practical way of his, and slipped out the door.
Marjorie quickly lit the pipe and took a big toke. “We can’t afford any vet bills,” she said with the practical air of a cooking show host. Then, funneling her hands around Heidi’s snout, she blew the smoke directly into the dog’s nostrils. She repeated this several times, and through Marty’s sheer amazement it occurred to him that this could work as some form of anesthesia. Julie deftly threaded a needle, and all of them waited, poised around the injured dog like operating room nurses; calmed by the rhythmic inhaling of the pipe and exhaling into her nose. Heidi, too, seemed to sense that this was for her benefit, and played the willing patient. Then Marge, whose brain was ripped sideways by this time, expertly sewed eleven stitches into the panting dog’s leg while everyone watched, transfixed. Who needed cable TV with such a spectacle?
At last the adrenaline wore off, and the excitement of the moment drifted away like smoke up the chimney. Heidi was completely passed out in a privileged spot on the couch, covered by a blanket. Marge was curled up next to her, stoned as a rock. Otter chattered excitedly on the phone with Rabbit, recounting all his heroic adventures with the raccoon, which by now was as big as a bear. It sounded like a reconciliation might be happening, as they gossiped like old friends. The spectators were still passing Otter’s pipe around, nestled snugly in their little pink diner booth before a crackling fire, celebrating the fullness and diversity of life in the solemn medicine wheel of shared drama.
Sadly, Heidi never recovered from the shock. The morning after her wound was stitched up, she was listless and cold, so Marge finally relented and took her to see the veterinarian associated with the pet store. Dr. Killdeer had an unfortunate name for a vet, but he was incredibly knowledgeable, and a proficient healer of more animals than any one being should be responsible for. He inspected her wound, and complimented Marge on her stitching job. He grew concerned when he listened with a stethoscope, and ushered everyone out of the room except his assistant. It seemed as though hours passed, as they waited outside in their cars, or in the tiny waiting room. Sadly, despite the medical team’s best efforts, the trauma proved too much for the gentle old dog, and she passed away before midnight. Her human friends and family all sat, stunned. Marty couldn’t believe she was gone. He used to take her for walks when she was just a puppy… They glumly took her body home, and the next day, Otter dug a grave for her in the very spot where the raccoon had attacked. Poor Heidi only lasted a couple of days in the “wild outdoors,” away from the suburban comforts to which she had grown accustomed. Sadly, they could not save their “berrier,” and so they “buried her.” Aside from the inconsolable sorrow of losing a sibling of a different species, from Marty’s point of view, the worst thing about the entire episode was that his budding cartoonist’s brain was developing an annoying penchant for stupid puns.
Otter, who had a talent for saying the right thing in a difficult moment, told a sad story about his own companion, Rosco, who had been run over by a logging truck last year. Remembering his old buddy, he removed his battered cowboy hat and bowed his head to say goodbye to the spirit of the White family’s longtime pet. “Humans don’t deserve dogs. They just come and show us the way.”
