Three-quarters of the Mosiman household had gone radio-silent as my departure to Austin grew closer. I had been adamant about my intentions...or rather, LACK of intentions. I planned on being suction-cupped to Savannah's couch the ENTIRE time...brain turned off...fueled by cheese strings, fruit gummies, and peppermint patties. I wanted only to be an emotionless-mass beached beneath warm cozy blankets.
But the emanating wave of silence was speaking volumes. I knew something was up but I didn't know what. Through the good grace of God, I had survived January but then February arrived with its own host of debilitatingly sad challenges. Finally, one late night phone call put me completely over the emotional edge and my family decided that it was time to play their trump card: While I was out in Austin, I would be swimming with otters. No, this didn't solve all the problems of the world but it sure provided me with a bit of a lift.
I am no stranger to a fun animal encounter:
I've swam with manatees in murky-water, touched a turtle in Mexico ("Only once," warned Brad Mosiman, who JUST THEN decided to follow the dictated rules. "Did you see the men with guns patrolling the beach?" Brad hissed at me when it looked like I was going to go in for touch number two), hand-fed carp the size of small cars, had a herd of deer tackle me for an empty ice cream cone, tossed mini-marshmallows to bears bellowing below me, had an elephant extract a full-sized marshmallow from my hand, and made a fist-to-finger exchange of Fruit Loops with a monkey.
All of these experiences were delightful...albeit morally questionable.
Finally, I could focus on something fun rather than wallow in the misery around me. Bring on the otters.
I immediately began searching for the perfect meet-the-otter outfit. I learned, late in the game, that your wardrobe, surprisingly, can really up the experience. My black and white ensemble may or may not have contributed significantly to a penguin becoming enraptured with me. With the otters, I was leaving nothing to chance. To cover my bases, I bought a matching shirt for Savannah. I'd wrestle her into it myself if I had to. I considered buying a can of fish oil with which to slather myself but my research revealed that these little guys can be quite the vicious carnivores and I didn't want to risk my encounter going awry with an unprecedented otter attack.
Like all good things in Texas, this place was in the middle of no-where. Savannah nervously eased her Mustang over a questionable, rickety, old, one-laned, wooden bridge. Our expectations were LOW. As we waited by the mini-Jurassic-style entry gates, we could see a turkey with some cows in a field. Sweet. The gates opened and we drove in...and immediately started squealing: "Look! A giraffe! Zebras! Mom! There are kangaroos!"
Two Saint Bernards came to meet us as we parked.
Our guide threw us in a side-by-side and drove us across the amazing property. Giraffes unfurled their legs and raced beside us. Savannah and I were enchanted. Our guide was much more based in reality. Motioning to one in particular, she explained that Jeffrey can be quite an ass.
Wonderful. A giraffe that is an ass!
We heard the otters before she even turned the engine off...a mixture of birds and cats.
A friendly giant pig with an unfortunate underbite welcomed us to the otters enclosure.
"There are eight otters today," our guide began and Savannah and I mentally filled-in-the-blank regarding the rest of her sentence..."and you will be meeting ____________ today."
NO!We would be swimming with ALL of them today!
Yee-Haw! Just fill my fists with Talapia and call me right on time for an otter's dinner party!
Savannah and I were eager to believe that otters mimic cats in that they do their business in a specific part of their enclosure and NOT in the giant otter stew that we were being added to.
This could not be happening.
But, yup. There we were...boiling away with a bundle of chirping, cheerful, energetic otters who slid, eagerly, in and out of our arms in the most wonderful Amy and Savannah soup you can imagine.
They were so happy.
I was so happy.
Pure, unadulterated joy.
We gobbled up our Tilapia. Extracted ice cubes from a cup and played with the floating glaciers before they melted. Dove and danced. Spun, spiraled, shimmied. They LOVED Savannah in the water and I seethed with jealousy. "I'm the one who got her the shirt," I explained to them but apparently ALL otters have ADHD so none of them slowed down to consider my words.
But then it was time to dry off.
On the land...they were MINE!
We were captivated as otters wiggled on their backs along the carpet. Savannah and I, wrapped in towels, sat among eight otters and their assortment of toys. A small maraca and an over-sized toothbrush were obvious favs. I realized, when I raised one towel-covered knee up that my sleek, furry friends loved my inadvertent fort. They quickly disappeared beneath the covers. Savannah and I did not have enough hands to rub the backs and bellies clamoring for attention.
It couldn't have been more delightful.
We had more otters than you could shake a stick at (and they would just have a ball playing with it). We were given ample time...more than we could have hoped. In fact, WE called it because, two towels aside, we were still cold.
It. Was. So. Much. Fun.
The otter enclosure was spacious and clean. The animals were well-socialized, healthy, and seemingly very happy. It was an experience that you could just feel good about.
I am so grateful to Savannah for arranging this wonderful experience. Face it, there is NO bad time to swim with these sweet, playful creatures but swimming with them when you are in the midst of a bad time is therapy like no otter.
