Otters are not the most Christmassy of animals. They never volunteer to drag sleighs. They rarely flutter picturesquely around holly bushes. And their presence has never been evoked in any carol or depicted on the cover of any seasonal greeting card … as far as I know anyway.
But for me, that small river-based mammal is now forever bound up with my ideas of festive cheer, goodwill to all humans and living room-based trees. Because whenever I see one, my first thought is: “Best. Christmas present. Ever.”
In 2019, I was given the gift of otters. Or, more specifically, a voucher for an “Otter Feeding Experience” at a Cambridgeshire wildlife park, purchased by my wife. I bloody love otters – I have ever since I was a kid. They’re just such adorably weird little dudes. You know that sea otters hold hands when they sleep, so that they don’t float apart? Or that they juggle stones when they get excited? And the rest of the time, they store their favourite stone in a mini pouch by their armpit? There’s something about those little be-snouted kooks – they make me smile.
But, in all honesty, most of the time, I forget how much I even like them. Otters do not feature in my day-to-day thoughts. Months can pass without an aquatic fluffball crossing my mind. For most gift buyers, this might suggest that they wouldn’t be an ideal candidate for a world-beating Christmas present. Not the woman I married, though.
My wife is an incredibly mindful shopper. Every year she devotes herself to inspiring the surprise and delight that comes from receiving an unexpected treasure. Intense amounts of personal thought are poured into each purchase, so while I might be getting something shaped like a book or a juicer, it feels like a physical representation of the sentiment: “I love you”. The less chance I’m expecting the gift? The more she knows I’ll like it.
And boy was she right. Never in a million years, did I envisage opening a card to find a voucher (handmade, naturally) for an otter feeding experience. Plus, even if I had, I don’t think I’d have guessed quite how giddily excited I’d be about it. The love and consideration she’d lavished on me! The unbelievable depth of her understanding of me! The tiny little snouts!
I lasted all of about two hours before excitedly booking our trip to see the otters. Although, naturally, I scheduled it for spring, when the weather would be a bit nicer. And then the pandemic struck, and my otter feeding experience was cancelled.
You know what gives you an even greater appreciation of getting away from the big city? Spending months and months staring at the walls of a small London flat. We rescheduled the trip, of course, and by the time lockdown ended and I had been trapped in a stinky metropolis for seven months. I was desperate for fun. I yearned for nature. Frankly, I’d have cooed “Aw!” at a rat eating fried chicken from a bin.
So within minutes of stepping off the train in a small Cambridgeshire village, I was completely engulfed with joy. You could hear the cacophony of adorable otter squeaks about 200 metres from their enclosure. Our mere appearance alongside caused them to spend 15 minutes engaged in a bizarre, poolside pre-lunchtime parade, where they frantically chirped their way around their enclosure in single file. Occasionally they’d form a choir in front of us, serenade us on their hind legs, and then return to their conga line.
An otterkeeper – if that’s the right word – appeared with a fish platter. He handed us a broom handle with a rubber ball on the end, and asked us to lower it into the otters’ pen and reward their antics with food. We watched the adorable spectacle of otters taking turns to put their tiny arms around the ball and hug it like a long-lost friend. Then we flipped the broom around. On to their tip-toes they went, eagerly pushing little button noses against the end of the pole.
It was one of the most utterly charming hours of my life. Every time we’d throw a fish, their excited noises were like a chorus of squeaky dog-toys. After lunch, they all scurried indoors, and we watched through a pane of glass as they snuggled into a snoozy, spent heap – a big floppy mess of cuddling otters.
And coming as it did after an intense few months of barely leaving our flat made it all the more perfect. Should a grown man feel weirdly emotional after flinging some fish to a group of river dwelling animals? Probably not. Did I? Yep.
It was great. Not only was it a personal, thoughtful gift, but it was made all the better by the circumstances. So, as we wandered around the wildlife park, I thanked my wife for the best Christmas present I’d ever received. It couldn’t have been more special, I told her.
At which point, one of my best friends stepped out from behind the tiger enclosure with his entire family in tow. A sly smile spread across my wife’s face and I went into a state of shock, given that I hadn’t seen him in more than a year since he’d moved away from London to … Cambridgeshire. Right. Should have seen that coming.
Honestly, I don’t know how she’ll even manage to come close this year. I’d say she’s disadvantaged now by the fact that there’s no national lockdown to heighten the anticipation of whatever she buys me. But the truth is that it doesn’t really matter. I’ve already had the perfect Christmas gift.
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