Day 14 –the alternative take on the lockout during lockdown.
Dear fellow captives (or fellesses to be frank),
The Warden is showing signs of a multiple personality disorder. She has adopted an alter ego called “The Silky Otter”. While old Silky would lead us to believe she is a cute, hijinks loving, adorable sea pup, a quick internet search reveals the true colours of the otter as a merciless “hellspawn” aqua-weasel who uses its intellect for great evil. I suspect MY otter is closer to the latter…
I saved the family on Sunday.
It all began on a warm autumn’s morn, the leaves gently rustled in the jacaranda tree, the scent of sweet jasmine filled the air and the high pitch yelps of small poodle-crosses drifted across the neighbourhood. The morning stillness was rudely interrupted by the shrill bark of the Otter, the snapping of her heels and the creaking opening of the steel door to the prison as she led the Prisoners out for a brief physical respite. Lined up two by two the Otter marched us up to the top of the hill and marched us back down again. When we were up we were up and when we were down we were down and when we were only half way up we were neither up nor down… As fate would have it, in the short time we were marching, Jacinda’s essential service provider, the Tooth Fairy, entered the prison building and maliciously locked the front door from the inside.
On returning home and finding an impenetrable physical barrier between her and the chardonnay bottle, the water-weasel was fast to attribute blame. May I say that while the Otter may be a crusader for fair justice in the outside world, life in the prison is somewhat different. Without a shred of judicial process, the Otter passed immediate judgement and rained scorn and spite down on said captive.
While the acidic words of the Otter burned to the bone it triggered a strange primitive fight or flight response from deep within me but even more strangely it also triggered Bonnie Tyler. The Otter was holding on for a hero!
Fearlessly and without a shred of concern for my own life I pounced the boundary wall and parkoured my way up the side of the pergola. I then proceeded to iguana crawl across the perilously thin glass covering, screwdriver clutched between my teeth, toward the nearest bedroom window. The paper-thin glass quivered below my body and I knew the slightest mistake would lead to the glass exploding, a horrendous fall and me bleeding out on the pavers below. However, my abdominal muscles just wouldn’t quit and I held my form and somehow made it to the bedroom window. The neighbourhood echoed like the Colesseum as the watching neighbours roared their appreciation and sang my praise. Clasping the handle of the screwdriver I went all Jason Bourne on the window and disarmed the security stays in a jiffy. In one swift motion I somersaulted through the open widow to save the day. Even the Otter couldn’t hide her admiration and with a twinkle in her eye bestowed cold beer on the anointed hero for the rest of the evening.
Well I hear you all say, that was a lovely accurate account, but I too have a male hero in my life. What can I do to show my appreciation? Well, I glad you asked. This blog goes out to all the unsung male heroes in your lives who on a daily basis risk life and limb to live up to the expectations of you, their proverbial otters. I say, starting tonight, bring them a cold beer, rub their feet, scratch them under the chin and say “atta boy”
No otters were harmed in the writing of this blog.
Said husband of SO
Photo by David Groves on Unsplash