Why would anyone want to smuggle an otter to Spain? It seems the most ridiculous of things to do, yet apparently it was all that Sandy could think about. She’d found an injured otter in the stream at the bottom of her garden and, given that it was her barbed wire fence that had injured it, she felt responsible for its well-being. So, she paid the vet to heal the creature, which was odd, since Vets aren’t supposed to charge for healing. Then, she kept the animal, in its weakened state, in a sort of aquarium in her home. It wasn’t an aquarium, it was her bath. She was relegated to showers only, but she didn’t mind, because she had a new friend. A friend she could take to Spain if only she could think of a way of getting it safely on the flight.

Nobody thought to question her motives for wanting to give a holiday to a wild animal. Nobody thought to question how lonely someone might be to get to that stage of obsession. They just concerned themselves with the legality of the mission, the safety of the animal, and the practicalities of sorting it all out. Two things were certain: even asking the authorities was a guaranteed way of having it stopped before it began, and even contemplating Sandy’s deteriorating mental health was a trip to a bad place.

One night, the otter escaped from Sandy, and neither problem had to be solved.