Our 4-year-old son, Leo, has his very fi

Answer

Pippin was a small river otter with soft brown fur and tiny pink paws. He lived with Mama in a cozy den tucked beneath the willow roots beside a slow, glassy creek.

Tomorrow was his very first time putting his paws into the water. His tummy felt fluttery, like a butterfly wearing socks.

"Pippin," said Mama, "the creek is cool and soft. It may splash a little on your nose and ears. That's all right."

Pippin crouched at the edge. He wiggled one pink paw just above the surface. Plip! A tiny drop landed on his whiskers. He blinked. It tickled, just a little.

Mama settled into the shallows beside him. "Slowly now. I'm right here."

Pippin placed both paws in. The creek made a soft shhh around his toes. Cool went up his arms, gentle and bubbly. A little splash caught his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Mama was still there.

"Now," said Mama, "a bubble game. Watch."

Mama dipped her nose under. Bloooop — a round bubble floated up. Pippin tried. Bloooop — a smaller one. Bloooop — another. The creek caught them and rocked them gently down the slow current.

When a splash tickled his ear, Pippin gave his head a tiny shake — shake, shake — just like Mama taught him. Then back to the bubbles.

The sun went low. The creek turned pink and gold. Mama padded out and shook her fur into a soft cloud of mist. Pippin climbed up beside her, paws cool and tingly, nose tipped with one last bubble.

They walked home through the warm grass, whiskers dripping. The den smelled like tea and willow bark. Mama tucked Pippin's cool paws under a leaf-blanket. He yawned, a wide, slow otter yawn.

"Tomorrow we'll go back to the shallows," Mama whispered. "I'll be right there."

Pippin's eyes grew soft. His whiskers stilled. Outside, the creek sang shhh, shhh, shhh.

Goodnight, Pippin. The den is still here. Mama is still here. The light is low.