Otter Wisdom
Territorial Disputes
Standing guard with the otters at Newport Aquarium felt like the most natural thing in the world. Three furry philosophers floating on their backs, eyes half-closed in perfect contentment while I kept watch. They had the whole relaxation thing figured out. No stress about stolen bikes or territorial tourists. Just pure, floating zen.
Mo had vanished to check on our rides, leaving me as the sole human representative in this inter-species moment of peace. The otters didn’t seem to mind my company. We had an understanding. They’d handle the napping, I’d handle the worrying.
That’s when the universe decided to test my otter-inspired calm. “Are you from Mars?” The voice cracked like a whip behind me. I turned to find a tiny, fierce woman glaring up at me with the intensity of someone who’d clearly staked her claim on this particular patch of aquarium real estate. “You’re in my way. I can’t see. It’s MY view.”
The otters continued floating, unbothered by the human drama unfolding above them. But me? I bolted. Fled like a startled deer to the safety of the seal exhibit, where I tried to blend into the fake rocky tunnel like some kind of awkward marine mammal imposter.
When Mo finally tracked me down, I was crouched in the shadows, watching seals glide through their underwater ballet. She didn’t ask questions, just sat down beside me in my makeshift hiding spot. We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring tank after tank, watching fish navigate their underwater highways and rays sweep across sandy floors like living pancakes.
The rain started as we headed back outside, but by then it didn’t matter. The bikes were still there, locks intact, and I’d learned something important from my otter friends: it’s OK not to be a normal human.