Kathy, I was on holiday in North Devon in 1963 when a fraffly tweedy woman stomped into the pub in which I and some friends were having lunch (the only pub meal it served being the ubiquitous 'chicken in a basket'!). She sank a swift pint and then stomped back out to her van, which had a number of dogs in cages in the back. I asked her what they were. "Otterhounds!" she barked, before telling them all to shut up, and clattering off.
I had no idea that otters were hunted (I was still living in Africa at the time, and didn't know its relatively few big game hunters were well outnumbered by enthusiastic British small game hunters). I felt terribly sad that these charming river creatures were still being persecuted in the 20th Century. There seemed to be no end of creatures that, once I mentioned them, someone shot, trapped, hunted, poisoned, or gassed. We bewail people shooting elephants and lions for trophies (I know I do), but it was amazing how apart from obvious vermin - rats - certain types of British society viewed so much of its wild life with disdain and despatched it as often as possible. Squirrels, voles, moles, stoats, ferrets, foxes, rabbits, hares, badgers, otters, mice, owls, starlings, sparrows, crows, rooks, jackdaws, jays, magpies, wood pigeons, carrier pigeons - all the 'wrong' sort of creature (God really buggered up those seven days creating things of the air and the earth, didn't He?!).
As the Victorians admired killing things for 'scientific purposes', and saw nothing wrong with hunting and shooting an enormous variety of birds and animals, possibly the otter tail represented an especially persistent, hard-to-catch one that had avoided its pursuers for some time.