An Otter Called Pebble E-Book

Helen Peters

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Jasmine Green Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 83

Beschreibung

The seventh in a fantastic series of animal stories for younger readers by Waterstones Children's Book Prize-shortlisted author Helen Peters, with beautiful black-and-white illustrations by Ellie Snowdon. Jasmine's dad is a farmer, and her mum is a large-animal vet, so Jasmine spends a lot of time caring for animals and keeping them out of trouble. Unfortunately, this often means she gets into hot water herself... Jasmine and Tom are amazed to spot a baby otter alone on the riverbank. When the little cub is swept downstream, they risk everything to rescue her. But where is her family? Can Jasmine and Tom find Pebble's home before it's too late? Brilliant storytelling that will make you laugh and cry, this is Dick King-Smith for a new generation. Perfect for readers aged seven and up. Check out Jasmine's other adventures: A Piglet Called Truffle, A Duckling Called Button, A Sheepdog Called Sky and many more!

Leseprobe

For Luke

H. P.

For Gem

E. S.

Chapter One

A Squeaky Sort of Chirping Sound

Jasmine Green and her best friend Tom were sitting on a wobbly wooden platform made of planks, balanced in the branches of a big old oak tree. It was a Friday afternoon in the middle of August, and it had been raining for days. It wasn’t raining at the moment, but the cloudy sky hung low over the fields like a heavy grey blanket.

From their tree house, Jasmine and Tom could see the whole of Oak Tree Farm. The farmyard, with its barns and sheds, and the long, low farmhouse with its red-tiled roof. The woods in the distance. The fields all around, dotted with cows and sheep. Jasmine’s pet pig, Truffle, snuffling in the orchard. Her little brother, Manu, and his best friend, Ben, digging a hole in the mud by the tool shed. And, just below the tree, snaking off into the distance, the winding river that ran right through the farm.

The tree house was their new idea. So far, it consisted only of the plank platform and a rickety wooden ladder propped against the lowest branch. A rope hung down from a smaller branch. Tied to the other end of the rope, on the wet grass, was a basket containing apples, biscuits and a bottle of juice.

“OK,” said Jasmine. “Pull very slowly.”

Tom took hold of the rope and cautiously hauled up the basket. The contents rolled to one side, the basket tipped up and the bottle and apples dropped on to the grass.

“Oh, well,” said Tom. “We’ve still got the biscuits.”

“I’ll get the other stuff,” said Jasmine.

The ladder wasn’t too bad, as long as you didn’t step on the broken rungs. Jasmine stuffed the bottle and the apples in her coat pockets, and was about to climb up again when a sound caught her attention. It was a loud, regular, squeaky sort of chirping sound, and it came from somewhere on the riverbank. “Listen,” she said. “What bird is that?”

“I think it’s a distress call,” said Tom. “It’s not normal birdsong.”

“It sounds like it’s coming from those brambles,” said Jasmine, pointing to a patch of thick undergrowth on the riverbank. “Maybe it’s stuck.”

“Let’s investigate,” said Tom.

He climbed down the ladder and they walked to the riverbank. The rain had made it very slippery, and they had to inch down sideways, digging the edges of their wellies into the mud to stop themselves from slithering into the fast-flowing water.

They came to the edge, where the steep bank ended in a narrow ledge before plunging into the river. Tom was on one side of the bramble patch and Jasmine on the other. The desperate squawking sounded even more distressed from here.

“I’m sure it’s in there somewhere,” said Jasmine, looking apprehensively into the brambles. “I wish we had gloves.”

Tom plunged his hands into his jacket pockets and pulled out a pair of crumpled gloves.

“Ta da!” he said. “Still there from winter.”

“That’s lucky,” said Jasmine. “You investigate first, then I’ll borrow them and look on this side.”

As Tom crouched down and gingerly parted the brambles, Jasmine looked along the riverbank. There was a heap of stones and pebbles just above the water level below her.

Suddenly, a movement caught her eye.

It was an animal with brown fur, sitting on the stones.

“Tom,” she whispered.

He looked up enquiringly and she pointed to the little creature.

“What?” said Tom. “I can’t see anything.”

The animal lifted its head up, looked directly into Jasmine’s eyes and gave a loud squeak.

“Oh!” she gasped. “It’s a baby otter!”

Chapter Two

We Don’t Have Much Time

Tom’s eyes widened. “An otter? Really?”

The otter squeaked again. Tom crept around the edge of the brambles and crouched beside Jasmine.

“Wow,” he whispered.

For a moment they looked at it in silence, trying to take in the extraordinary fact that there was a real live otter cub in their part of the river.

“Have you ever seen one before?” whispered Tom.

Jasmine shook her head. “Never. I think they’re really rare.”

“It’s definitely a baby, isn’t it?” said Tom. “Where are its parents?”

Jasmine leaned out across the water.

“What are you doing?” said Tom, clutching her arm. “Don’t fall in!”

Jasmine continued to peer over the edge. “I’m looking for a hole that might be its home.”

“Can you see one?”

“No. There’s nothing. Just a solid cliff of mud.”

“So what’s a baby otter doing alone on that pile of stones?”

Jasmine looked at the murky water rushing beneath her. “Maybe it got swept away from its family.”

“And then scrambled up on those rocks,” said Tom. “And now it’s calling out to its family to come and rescue it.”

“But what if they don’t come?”

“Let’s stay and watch,” said Tom. “If they don’t come in a while, one of us can run back to the house and ask your mum what we should do.”

“I wonder if she’s ever seen an otter,” said Jasmine.

Jasmine’s mum was a vet, so she had encountered many different animals close up, but Jasmine had never heard her mention treating an otter.

The otter cub was still making its distress calls.

“Its family should definitely hear it if they’re nearby,” said Tom. “It’s so loud.”

Crouched by the brambles, Jasmine studied the cub as the cold grey water swirled around the stones.

It had a broad furry head, with big round dark eyes and little rounded ears. Its black nose was like a dog’s, and it had a row of white whiskers on either side of its face. Its sleek furry body ended in a thick tail. There was a patch of whiter fur, like a bib, on its throat.

They waited for a long time, watching the cub and casting their eyes anxiously up and down the river to see if its mother was coming.

“What if the mother has abandoned it?” said Jasmine. “How long do you think we should wait? It might be really hungry.”

A gust of wind blew across the water, stirring up ripples and waves. All of a sudden, a wave splashed over the stones where the otter was sitting. With a desperate squawk, the cub slithered off the stones and into the river.

“Oh, no!” cried Jasmine, springing up and staring in horror as the little otter disappeared beneath the rushing water.

“It’s being carried downstream,” said Tom, scrambling to his feet. “Let’s go to the bridge. We might be able to get it from there.”

They scrabbled up the bank and raced down the field, keeping pace with the baby otter as it struggled against the current, sometimes with its head above the water, sometimes completely submerged.

They headed for the wooden bridge near the bottom of the field. Jasmine ran to the middle of the bridge and climbed over the railings.

“Hold on to my ankles,” she said. “I’ll try to catch it as it comes under.”

“I’m not dangling you head first into the river,” said Tom. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’ll be fine,” said Jasmine. “You’re strong. Just keep hold of my ankles.”

Facing the river, she reached her hands behind her back and gripped the bottom rail while she lowered herself down until she was kneeling on the edge.

“Grab my ankles,” she said. “I’m going to fish it out.”

“It’s too late,” said Tom. “Look.”

Jasmine gave a cry of despair as she saw the little otter, its head just above the water, disappearing under the bridge. She got up and ran to the other side. Just beyond the bridge, the river rounded a bend, where a huge weeping willow tree trailed its delicate branches into the water. As they watched, the little otter was swept into the branches.

“Run!” said Jasmine.

They ran off the bridge and part-scrambled, part-slid their way down the bank above the willow tree, clutching the branches to stop themselves from tumbling into the river.

The cub seemed to have given up struggling. It was floating on the surface, frighteningly still, tangled in the willow.

“It’s exhausted,” said Jasmine. “We don’t have much time.”

“We need a long stick,” said Tom, “to hook it in.”

“Good idea.”

Tom was inspecting sticks. “Too short,” he muttered, as he kicked one aside. “Too thin,” he said, rejecting another.

He picked up a thicker stick and bent it. It snapped in half.

“Too brittle.”

Jasmine picked up a longish curved stick. She bent it and it didn’t break.

“It’s a bit thin,” she said, “but we don’t have much time and I can’t see anything better.”

She unzipped her raincoat, pulled it off and dropped it on the bank. Then she took off her jumper.

“What are you doing?” asked Tom.

Jasmine pulled off her wellies and socks. “I’ll try to drag it to the bank with the stick, but if I can’t do that, I’ll have to get in the water. If we don’t rescue the cub right now, it will die.”

Chapter Three

It’s Not Working

A tree root, just the right thickness for a hand to grasp, arched out of the ground near the water’s edge. Tom held on to the root and Jasmine held on to Tom’s hand as she climbed down the muddy bank. Both of them stretched as far as they could. With her other hand, Jasmine positioned the stick on the far side of the baby otter and pulled.

But, however hard she pulled, the cub didn’t move towards her. It just turned round and round in the water.

“It’s not working,” said Jasmine. “Its body’s moving, but its head’s stuck in the branches.”

“Try again. See if you can hook its head,” said Tom.

“I’ll try, but I don’t want to hurt it.”