Ot the Otter, part 1
There was a small creek flowing through the dairy farm that I grew up on along the central Oregon coast. It was my sister's turn to bring the cows in for milking that evening and one of the old cows name Bray would not cross over the creek. She had her head down looking at a small object along the creek bank. When my sister went to get Bray, she found a baby river otter barely alive along the creek bank. She went running to the barn to get Dad to come look and then took the baby otter to the house to Mom. Mom fed the otter milk from an old baby bottle and fixed her a bed in a cardboard box. My sister had a coat with a faux fur collar and Mom wrapped the collar around a wind-up alarm clock that ticked loudly. The small otter curled around the collar and went to sleep. Mom said the fur and ticking of the clock was like being close to the mother otter and hearing her heartbeat. Mom named the baby Otto the Otter, but of course, we shortened the name to Ot.