Late afternoon today I took my little ones out on their leash.  I have
shoveled two and three feet of snow, and over several days also stomped a
path to the lake, through the remains of the field, and leading up to the
park.
 
Each ferret reacted differently.  Some wanted to snuggle under my toasty
jacket, peak out and sniff the air.  Others wanted to follow the paths I
created.  The rest wanted to forge their own trail, and led me into deep
slushy snow that fell eagerly down my boots to keep my toes company.
 
After a few minutes, the ferret is led back inside.  There, the next avid
explorers have noses pressed to mesh screen.  No one is forced out.  No one
has to be.  When everyone has had a turn, we start all over-slender necked
guys first.  Sunny Rhino Mudd last.
 
Once inside, unleashed madness abounds.  Leaping exhalted, twisty
manuevers- amidst much rolling and wildness- accompany dooking delight.
I laugh out loud at their silly joy.  From speed bump to maniac in a few
short minutes.
 
On our trip to the park I see what appears to be a leaf blowing round and
round in the same spot-far out in the field. But there is no wind.  And
barely a breeze. I wonder for that split second if I have fallen into a
surealistic world: I watched too much TV as a youngster-mostly The Twilight
Zone and One Step Beyond, and Alfred Hitchcock. Have I stepped into another
plane? Am I dead? The split second ends.
 
The next ferret leading me out in that direction finds the leaf still
twirling round and round.But it is not a leaf.  It has a small skinny tail.
I head back alone.
 
It is a mole-a brown mole running round in a small circle over and over
again.  He is tearing me up inside.Is he starving, dehydrated, freezing,
lost, insane?  What do I do?
 
I grab tupperware and gloves and race out.I try to catch the poor little
thing and put him in a container until I can get to an emergency vet.  But
I seem to have broken the spell.  AS I get closer, his circles get wider
and drift away from me.  Sometimes the snow is a foot deep.  Then I fall
into snow up to my thighs.  The little mole dives into my foot print and
burst through the snow and disappears.  Utterly disappears.
 
There is an exchange of socks and boots,and some more trips, and laughter,
and leaping chaos.  But today, I have been left haunted by the image of a
field of glistening white snow, and a twirling brown mole.
 
Lisette
[Posted in FML issue 3297]