Not a song, but a story for you to be goin' on with.

A tribe of otters that spent their lives among the rocks and weed of the West Coast of Scotland were going about their daily business one fine summer's morning when a member of the advance party came racing back at great speed with alarming news.

"Take care, laddies!" he cried. "There's two beasties beyond in the Firth that I dinnae ken. And I dinnae like the look o' them either!"

The party of otters – startled – swam to shore and, creeping across the rocks, reached a vantage point where they could overlook the strangers swimming in the bay.

Up spake the otter chief. "I want a volunteer tae swim oot and confront yon pair o' beasties and ask them their business."

Hamish – a brave, if impetuous and, let's be honest, none too bright member of the tribe – immediately stuck up his webby paw. "I'll dae it, big mon!"

And with that he lunged off his perch and into the water.

The tribe looked on with a mixture of apprehension and admiration of Hamish's reckless courage.

He approached the strange pair and engaged them in earnest conversation.

The tribe held their breath as Hamish swam back at a fierce lick and clambered from the water to the rocks.

The chief of the tribe questioned him.

"So what news d'ye ha'e for us, Hamish?"

"Well," said Hamish. "I had a bit o' bother adjustin' tae their strange way o' talking. But they're from Canada. And they're toads."

The tribe gasped in astonishment.

The chief spoke up in exasperation.

"Hamish! If yon fellas are toads, then I'm the Loch Ness Monster! Since when did you ever see a hairy toad wi' a big tail on him! I'm awa' tae see for ma sen."

And with an exasperated shake of his head, the chief threw himself into the water and swam – steadily and with all the quiet dignity he could muster – towards the strangers. Hamish, ashamed, slunk to the rear of the party and busied himself in preening his damp fur – all the while stealing furtive glances at the chief, now engaged in animated conversation in the Firth.

After several minutes, the chief swam back towards the shore, closely followed by the "toads" with whom he'd been parlaying.

Hamish was indignant. His sense of shame evaporated under the influence of his righteous anger.

"What are ye daein' …" he hissed at the chief " .. fraternising with yon toads!"

The chief sighed. "Hamish! Perhaps ye could explain why ye think our new friends are toads …"

"I asked them, point blank! I asked what sort o' a beastie are ye at all. And one of them answered me, 'I'm a natterjack!'"

The chief tutted and swung his old head from side to side, rolling his eyes to heaven.

" Hamish, my boy, you've got the wrong end o' the stick again." He motioned to one of the strangers. "Would you mind repeatin' what ye said for the benefit o' the rest o' the tribe?"

"Sure thing, chief! I said - I'm an otter, Jock!"