Oscar the Otter

And his struggles with gambling addiction

Oscar the Otter

Has lost the lot.

His entire inheritance,

All on the slots.  



His father was a banker

With too much wealth to measure.

Oscar spent his adolescence

As an otter of leisure.  


He had a lot of things

That other otters did not.

Most of their lake was taken

Up by his yacht.  


Was Oscar lucky?

I guess that depends.

Up there on the yacht,

It was hard to make friends.  


He would watch other otters

From over the side,

Holding hands with each other

On the slip and slides.  


Indulging instead

In life’s simple pleasures,

Their favorite rock in their pocket,

Their only treasure.  


Oscar didn’t know

Which life he would rather,

But he did know that he longed

For Las Vegas, Nevada.  


Ever since he was a boy,

When he saw it in a magazine

That he fished out with a net

As it washed down the stream,  


He flipped through the pages

With his little flippers

And since then has dreamed

Of gambling and strippers.  


So, against the advice

Of his family vet,

He flew off to Vegas

In their private jet.  


And for the first few days,

He had a hoot

At the blackjack tables

In his little wetsuit,  


Eating shrimp

And placing bets,

Onto some poker,

Then the roulette.  


But nothing compared

To how he would feel

When he pulled that lever

And spun those wheels.  


Oranges, cherries,

Plums, and bells—

His glazed-over eyes

Could hardly tell.  


Coin after coin

Met his little otter thumb.

Oscar had never felt

So comfortably numb.  


Spin after spin

After spin, without care,

Till he reached in his pocket

And found nothing there.  


He went to the ATM—

It was just as he feared:

His whole bank account

Was totally cleared.  


Oscar’s riverbed

No longer came with silk sheets.

For the next several days,

Oscar slept on the streets.  


Hot, hot days

And cold, cold nights—

It was hard to sleep

Under the flashing lights.  


One uncomfortable night,

He was understandably glum.

He felt something hard

Under his little otter bum.  


Grumpy, uncomfy,

He reached round behind,

And his life was changed

By what he did find:  


The most beautiful rock

He ever did see.

If you saw it too,

I’m sure you’d agree.  


Such incredible texture,

So smooth and round—

Oscar couldn’t believe

This rock that he’d found.  


He loved the sight of it

And the weight in his palm.

It somehow brought with it

Clarity and calm.  


All his lost riches

Were now long forgotten.

Oscar’s favorite rock

Was found at rock bottom. 


If you’re looking for Oscar,

He’s now easy to find.

He’s with all the other otters

On the slip and slide.  


No more jets

And no more yachts

But he’ll happily show you

His favorite rock