The otter preteen known as Harry thought as he readied himself and his parent's to the designated shelter they heard over the radio an hour ago was... "Wonder if they'll throw rocks, bottles or shit at the StinkerShits"

Most who know him, know he can crack a joke or make a nonsense comment to ease up the tension of any situation. Or just to amuse himself. He always had a dirty joke book or pun book on paw or racing through his mind. But that wasn't always on his mind. When he was younger, his uncle was in the army and was with the med unit, and that fascinated him. To quickly heal up those who helped other's or who couldn't help themselves. It just sounded right to him. So, he got to studying early on medical book's and text's and was good at remember what he read and absorbed and good at making makeshift medical tool's and splints from household item's. Also learning how to cut tree limbs with his dad and a trusty machete helped him understand his strengths.

At 13, he could tell you how to stitch up and treat almost all wounds if not do it himself. This was good, because...well, shit hit the fan. Hard.

As he got the family boat ready so they could get to safety, Harry smirked as he sneaked in his joke books in against what his parents asked him to do. A good laugh could just as help as him sewing up an arm and setting a leg or tail back into place. This was proven when he saw his parent's try hard and failing not to freak out when they saw a dead mammal walking with it's entrails hanging out and holding the end of it like it was wanting someone to grab it, and Harry came out and said 'So is the StinkerShit needing a friend to play jump rope with or needs to connect into a wall socket?' This bizarre ice breaker helped them laugh and calm down.

But danger was everywhere now, but the family knew that their 'Hilarious' Harry could handle it.

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