Apologies for the heartless-sounding topic, but I think it'll make sense
once you read this.  And there's a bit of backstory here too; apologies
again if this is a bit long-winded.
 
Right now I've got three fuzzies.  Sprinkles (who was almost killed a year
and a half ago by a distemper shot; see the anonymous submission in digest
#2000-2957) is my eldest child and is about six years old.  Bubo is the
middle kid, going into her fourth year.  And Snippet is the baby of the
family, about a year and a half old.
 
There were two other ferrets in my life, Bandit and Rascal, sisters adopted
from a family that didn't want them any more.  Bandit passed away right
before Christmas 1994 due to an adrenal tumor.  Bandit passed away about
a year and a half ago due to extreme complications involving the surgical
removal of about a dozen tumors throughout her body.  Both Bandit and
Rascal died at the vet's office.  Bandit died while laying unconscious
inside of an oxygen tent -- intensive care from the adrenal tumor (I was
sadly unfamiliar with the warning signs of adrenal cancer at the time and
took her to the vet too late).  Rascal died while healing from the surgery;
she was home for about a week or two then started passing blood in her
stool.  I took her back to the vet and she died the next day while in the
intensive care ward.  I took both deaths really hard.  I was only able to
recover Rascal's body (the vet had mistakenly sent Bandit's body for
"disposal") so in my back yard there's a small grave for Rascal and a
memorial for Bandit.
 
With Bandit I had no idea her situation was so severe.  When the vet asked
me if I wanted to put her down I couldn't make myself say yes, even though
I knew it would prolong her pain.  (As it turned out, Bandit passed away
while I was on the phone with the vet.) But with Rascal I knew her time was
coming.  She was an older ferret (over eight years old) who was always tiny
and somewhat frail.  I knew that the surgery was particularly involved and
that her chances were slim.  And when I saw her passing blood and I picked
her up and she reacted like a barely conscious rag doll I KNEW, deep down
inside, that she wasn't going to make it.  (I think the other ferrets did
too.  As I was holding Rascal, Bubo and Sprinkles approached and licked her
face until the taxi came to drive us to the vet.  I'd never seen them do
that for so long, and when the car came Sprinkles wouldn't let go so I had
to bring both of them to the vet's office.)
 
With all that in mind, I'm looking at Sprinkles now and wondering when her
time is going to come and how I'm going to handle it.  If I see her going
down and that same "she's not going to make it" feeling comes up, do I take
her to a cold and sterile vet's office?  Part of me says yes; her condition
may be treatable and she's got a better chance at the vet's office than she
does at home.  But part of me says no; if I were in her place I would want
to go surrounded by comfortable things and friends and family.
 
It's a very difficult decision that nobody wants to think about, but I want
to do the right thing.  I'm not looking for justification or "the right
path", I just want to know how others react to this sort of situation.  I'd
feel terrible if I decided to keep my ferret at home when popular wisdom
says take her to the vet, but I think I'd feel worse if I had to drop off
my ferret in some alien environment so she could die.
 
If you were in my position, what would YOU do?
[Posted in FML issue 3536]