122 SECRETS OF ANIMAL LIFE 
has saved the creature from being exterminated 
for the sake of its fur.’ 
One of the admirable qualities of the otter is the 
intensity of the parental, especially the maternal, 
care. The young ones—blind and downy—are born 
in a soft-lined nest under the shelter of an inaccessi- 
ble bank; the mother will at first hardly leave them 
save on feverish rushes after the food necessary 
to keep up the supply of milk. To guard them she 
sleeps, like many a human mother, with at least 
one ear awake. When they open their eyes she 
cautiously carries them to bask for a while in the 
winter sunshine, for their birthdays are often in 
January. When they can clamber she teaches 
them the woodcraft of the immediate vicinity of 
the “hover” and the complete alphabet of the 
sounds that mean danger. With her teeth she 
punishes disobedient foolhardiness—especially on 
the part of the male cubs—yet she shares in their 
frolics when all sensible danger is distant. When 
they are a little over eight weeks old and able to 
follow her afield, she takes them to a quiet pool and 
teaches them to swim, supplying by a gradual 
widening of experience the liberating stimuli that 
are needed to arouse their instinctive endowments. 
In about a week they can swim with the fishes—a 
week which seems more like play than school, for the 
otter is one of the animals in which there is pro- 
1¥For the other side of the picture—a sorry one—see Joseph 
Collinson’s Hunted Otter. Animals’ Friend Society, London, 
Igil. ans ne 
