God, I never thought I'd be writing an email to Sandee- at least not so
soon when our ferrets have all been so healthy and relatively young.
Sandee- I have a request for you, but would like to tell the whole story
first; my message to you is at the end of this- hope that's ok.  I know
this will be long but I have to tell it all to you so you understand.
 
We got Scooter, a gorgeous sable, when he was about 2 months old, in
1999.  He looked like a little bear because he wasn't long yet and had
these stubby legs.  To us he looked so unique- in fact, I don't think I'd
ever seen a sable before in person- you see, my husband had a silver mitt
(Freddy) and a panda (Peanut) when I met him.  Both have somehow over the
years turned whitish/cream colored with a little grey.  At the same time
we got Scooter we also got Daisy, a black-eyed white.  So to us, Scooter
looked "exotic", even though sables are pretty common and they're what a
lot of people think a typical ferret looks like.  Scooter he had a very
distinct black/brown mask and body, with a gorgeous and down-soft white
undercoat.  His nose was almost all black, and he had two little white
"eyebrows" above his bright eyes.  We once took him with us to the pet
store and a lady came up to me and said "Is that a baby otter??!" I said
"No, it's a ferret, would you like to see him?" She was in a hurry but
stated emphatically as she walked away "No, he's not.  He's an otter and
he lives in the water." :-)
 
Scooter was the best ferret we had.  Don't get me wrong, we are animal
lovers and love *all* of our animals, but if I'm really honest, Scooter
held a very special place in my and my husband's hearts.  He had plenty
of energy, but was the sweetest, gentlest ferret of all of ours.  Unlike
the other 3, Scooter was awake a lot of the day- at least when we were
home.  Everyone else would be sacked out but he would usually be awake,
looking to play or find something fun to do.  When I would work from home
he would constantly climb up my legs as I was sitting at the computer-
if I put him back on the floor he'd just climb up again.  That ferret
persistence... We always had to pull our desk chairs way out to the
middle of the room b/c Scooter could LEAP.  He was the best climber and
jumper I've ever seen.  Given a chance, he'd knock things off my desk,
spill water in my keyboard or start typing an email full of gibberish
to god-knows-where :-).  He was such a curious little explorer.  Wow.
I can't believe I'm writing this all in the past tense- I'm looking at
a picture of him as I write this and he seems so alive...
 
I know I'm describing such "typical" ferret-like behavior that might seem
mundane to you, but compared to our others, who were much less active, he
was the most interested, fun-loving little guy.  Mischievous.  The best
carpet-digger you ever saw.  God, I used to get so mad at him when he did
that... I would give anything to have him back, digging all day if he
wanted to... I'd give him his own carpet and replace it as often as he
needed.  I wish I hadn't yelled at him so much about digging.  And the
closet... If you so much as opened it an inch & he wasn't already up,
he'd scramble out from under the bed or his cage to make a closet
expedition attempt.  You had to be quick to outsmart him- I learned a
lot of moves I should use out on the soccer field trying to keep Scooter
out of the closet.  Block, fake, lunge, repeat...
 
The ferrets have free run of the back two rooms (office/bedroom).  We
partitioned it off for their safety and to keep the doggies minding their
own business.  There were many iterations of the plastic "Barrier," as it
came to be called.  The first one was good for a little while, but as he
always did, Scooter figured it out- and it wasn't tall enough, even
though it was a stretch for my legs to get over.  Once, my husband's mom
was taking care of them while we were on vacation and she, not being as
spry as we were, had put some kind of a little step about 4" high next to
the Barrier to get over it more easily.  She put it on the wrong side...
No matter that every other day of his life Scooter was not able to crack
the Barrier puzzle, he tried every day- every day was a new one after
all, there might be a way over.  In the middle of the night my
mother-in-law woke up in the guest room to a little jingling, turned on
the light, and there was Scooter, standing there looking at her like
"hey!  let's play!  It's 4am but I am always up for a game or frolic".
He was so smart that even after that incident, when we of course made
sure there was nothing he could climb to leap the Barrier, he would find
things to push over to it to hop up on and make it over.  Finally my
husband gave in and raised the height of the Barrier.  I could barely
get over it without a little hop.  Every once in awhile one of us tripped
and ate carpet or stubbed a toe, but it was the only way to keep him in,
so we put up with it.
 
Every time we came home Scooter was always there, on the other side of
the clear Barrier, waiting.  None of the other ferrets ever were.  But he
always was- patient, waiting for us to greet him.  For awhile it was just
the 4 ferrets and he was the welcoming committee who we greeted pretty
quickly.  I felt bad after we had two dogs who demanded attention-
sometimes loudly- in the front of the house, that I would feel I had to
give before moving to the back of the house.  Then I'd be opening mail,
using the bathroom, whatever, and no matter how long the routine took
Scooter was always there waiting patiently.  If we stepped over and and
made our first stop in the back bedroom he'd trot through the office so
he would be with us and not miss anything.  He just always wanted to be
around us, it seemed.
 
He was a fun little guy- he loved to play.  We had all sorts of games
we'd play, many of which were initiated by him.  Sometimes if we weren't
responding to his invitations he would (VERY gently) nip at our ankles to
get our attention so we'd play with him.  Somehow, instinctively, he knew
to never truly bite us, even in play.  The rare times he nipped a little
too hard and we said "OWWW!" he would look at us for a second and then
lick our hands where he'd nipped.  I don't recall ever having to scruff
him for anything but a couple of times and then I felt terrible because
he was such a sweetie.  He was the only ferret we had who gave true
ferret kisses- I can still feel his rough little tongue on my eyelids
and cheeks.  He loved it if I scratched his butt and would lick my hand
enthusiastically while I did it.  He did a great dance of joy, dooking
and "muttering" to himself as he leaped around like a little bunny.  When
there was something like an empty shoebox on the floor he'd crawl under
it and play "turtle", propelling it around from underneath, bumping into
things and then going in the opposite direction.  God I miss him so
much...
 
Scooter was never sick; there was one nightmarish trip racing back to the
vet's after we'd gotten the ferrets their distemper vaccine and he had a
massive reaction to his.  I thought I would die if I couldn't keep him
awake and alive until we got there, me sitting in the back seat holding
him, with Gary driving 90 mph to the vet's 15 minutes away, which felt
like 30.  We got him there in time for them to counteract the shock.  I
never wanted to feel anything like that panic ever again.  He was soon
back to his healthy self, thank god.
 
So what happened... Gary and I & the dogs went to some friends' cabin at
a lake in the mountains for the weekend this past weekend.  Only being
gone 2 nights, we would leave the ferrets with plenty of food and water
and they were just fine as always- probably sleeping most of the time.
We had a fantastic weekend that was our first getaway in a long time &
returned Sunday afternoon.  Of course Scooter was there, waiting to greet
us.  I wanted to start a load of wash, tidy up, etc.  I thought about
just opening my suitcase and dumping all the clothes into the washer, but
for some reason decided to bring it back to the bedroom and unpack there.
I lift things over the Barrier all the time- bags, computer & briefcase,
laundry, vacuum.  But you sometimes had to fake him out to avoid him... I
picked up my suitcase and went to step over.  I tripped.  I couldn't hold
onto the suitcase.  It fell, full of all my weekend things, on Scooter
and I fell on my hands and knees.  I screamed and yanked it up off of him
and Gary and I looked, terrified, at Scooter, who proceeded to bolt away
and eventually ended up under our bed.  I mean he RAN.  Top speed.  I
was horrified and hysterical.  I ran in there to offer him one of his
favorite chicken treats and make sure he was okay.  I got down on the
ground and there he was under the bed, being "flat".  He sniffed the
treat and took a bite but then dropped it and laid his head back on the
ground.  I knew something was wrong- I thought maybe I had injured his
back, a leg, a foot, and that was terrifying.  I gently picked him up,
we offered him Ferretone and the same thing happened- one lick, then
drooping down.  I put him on the ground to see him walk and he kind of
lurched around and was off-balance.  Another frantic and emotional car
ride and we got him to the emergency vet- they took xrays of everything.
No broken bones or skull fracture.  No bleeding.  But they thought he had
some sort of head trauma b/c his eyes were kind of pointing different
directions and he wasn't responding normally- just kind of dazed.  They
didn't get our hopes up; they would keep him overnight and constantly
monitor him, giving him fluids and something to decrease any swelling he
had in his brain.  Gary kept patting me and saying "He's going to be just
fine, don't worry."  But I had a terrible feeling.  I hated to leave him
but we had to.  They said they'd call if he took a turn for the worse.
We called 5 hours later and they said he was a little more alert.  I
worried and cried all night, while Gary tried to reassure me.  Monday
morning came without a call.  We went to pick him up and he looked the
same- but they'd made a note that during the night he'd become more
alert, wanted to eat something and play a little!  His eyes were back to
normal, and they said his hearing was improving.  Good signs.  They said
the first 12-24 hours was critical- we'd made it through about 16 already
and they were "cautiously optimistic" about his recovery, though they
warned us he might have some lasting damage- maybe his balance would be
off or something the rest of his life.  That didn't sound so bad after
worrying all night about head trauma.  I would take him any way we could
get him.
 
We dropped him off at our regular vet's to watch during the day.  He
examined Scooter and while he was trying to listen to his heart, etc.,
Scooter tried to wiggle out of his hands and took hold of his carrier's
door with his teeth and pulled with all his might to try to open it (it
was locked).  THAT seemed like a good sign that he was strong and feisty.
They told us they'd call us with any changes and that we'd likely be able
to take him home that night.  I went to work.  A few hours later, after
feeling like there was some hope after this terrible nightmare Gary
called me to say that the vet had called.  "Honey, Scooter didn't make
it."  The most terrible words I've heard in my life.  I didn't believe
it- we'd left him a little out of it, but they'd thought he would
recover.  The vet didn't know what had happened- they were checking him
throughout the day, and he'd seemed to want to burrow in a blanket, so
they brought another one for him and Scooter curled up and went to sleep.
But he didn't wake up.  I was in complete shock.  Gary was asking me if
we wanted the vet to do an autopsy, if we should take Scooter home to
bury him, and I was just speechless.  I killed my baby, was all I could
think.
 
We decided not to bring him home, but I had to see him.  Had to hold him.
How could he die without us there?  Why didn't we bring him home so he
could know he was with us and not alone instead of at the vet's when he
died?  Gary couldn't handle going with me so I went alone.  I don't even
remember the drive there.  I went in and told them I was there to see
Scooter.  They let me have a private room and brought him in and gently
laid him on the counter, wrapped in a soft yellow towel.  He looked like
he was asleep, except his little body was all stiff.  And cold.  I think
they'd refridgerated him.  I picked up my baby like he was still alive
and cradled him, just sobbing uncontrollably.  How could this happen?
What did I do?  I apologized to him over and over, telling him how sorry
I was that I'd hurt him and that I didn't mean to do it.  I told him I
was sorry I wasn't with him when he died- that he was alone.  I couldn't
get enough of looking at him, stroking his beautiful fur, touching his
feet, his tail.  I finally got to pet him the way I had always wanted to
that, although he was affectionate, he squirmed from- touching his little
velvet ears and stroking his nose over and over.  I buried my nose in his
fur which has always had one of the sweetest smells on earth to me.  I
realized in that moment why people talk about saving their pets' DNA- an
idea I'd scoffed at in the past.  I desperately wanted a lock of his fur
but didn't have any scissors and thought the vet would think I was nuts.
They told me I could stay with him as long as I wanted to, but they
checked on me a couple times.  I felt like I was taking up one of their
rooms and eventually I had to give him up.  I thought about sneaking him
out but didn't know what I'd do with him- we didn't want to bury him for
fear he'd be dug up.  We didn't have the money to have him cremated or
anything.  I laid him gently down on the counter and tried to wash his
face a little because it had some crust on it.  I couldn't get it off.
I tried to gently close his eyes, but they wouldn't stay.  I carefully
wrapped the blanket all around him to make sure he would be warm.  I
could barely bring myself to press the buzzer to have them come and get
him.  After I did I wanted to take it back, beg for more time, disappear
out the back door with my little baby.  But they came to take him.  I
don't know how I was able to leave and hand him to them, I was just numb
I guess.  I still regret leaving him there.
 
I came home and sobbed.  We cried together and I thought I would just die
from sorrow.  I have never had a pet that died before.  This is one of
the reasons I hesitated to get pets, though I adore animals.  I don't
know how to get through this.  Gary's way is to distract himself, get
busy with things, try to act normal until he feels that way.  I can't
seem to do that.  I have moments when I occupy my mind with thoughts
other than Scooter, and then I feel guilty for not thinking of him.  But
I'm exhausted, my mind and body have grieved so much already.  I keep
expecting to see Scooter, waiting for me.  Every time I open the closet
I die a little more when he doesn't scurry out from under the bed.  I
haven't been to work all week (luckily I have a very understanding boss).
I've tried making myself relive the moment I dropped the suitcase,
thinking that will both take care of punishing myself, and maybe going
over it again will help my grief progress faster.  But most of the time
I can't bear to relive that moment.  It enters my mind and I have to
frantically distract myself.  I know it was an accident but I'm filled
with guilt and remorse.  What if I had handed the suitcase to Gary
instead of trying to carry it over the Barrier?  Why didn't I unpack
in the laundry room?  Why, of all things, did I choose to put my heavy
hiking boots in the bag instead of wearing them like I did on the trip
up and why the hell did I bring a hairdryer that made the case heavier
when I hardly ever blow dry my hair??
 
How could I have crushed my baby?  Why did it have to be him?  I love all
of our pets, but he was the special one for me- and still so young and
healthy.  It seems like a cruel thing for it to have been him.  I agonize
constantly, thinking he knew it was me who dropped the case on him and
wondered why his mom would do that, and worry that he was in terrible
pain.  Since he was so dazed, the vet said they didn't give him pain
killers because he said they would make him even less responsive, and
then they couldn't guage his progress, but that he didn't seem to be
uncomfortable.  But what if he was?  What if he knew he was dying at the
vet's and wondered why we didn't come get him and bring him home?  God,
I can't get these thoughts out of my mind.  I know, intellectually, that
everything I'm experiencing is "normal" grieving.  But somehow, when it's
you and your baby, that just doesn't help very much.  I know with time I
will get better and the horrible thoughts will fade a little.  But right
now all I want is to be able to curl up in a corner and hold him again
and smell his sweet little smell.  I am torn between surrounding myself
with images of him that hurt to look at, & worrying that I'll forget what
he looks like and how he used to play and just enjoy life- it somehow
seems wrong to try to distract myself, like it's dishonoring his memory.
I know how much joy he brought to our lives; he was, and he gave us such
a precious gift with his presence.  He gave and gave and never demanded
much in return.  It would be hard to choose between having had him for 3
years and knowing that preciousness, and not knowing it but not having
to hurt like this.
 
I know this is way too long already- but I know those of you who have
been through this will understand.  Thank you for receiving this and
for any kind words or wisdom you might have to offer us from your own
experience.  What I really wanted to say was this: Sandee- please watch
for Scooter and help him cross over the Rainbow Bridge.  He may have
already arrived- you'll know him by his shiny eyes and penchant for
leaping around.  He used to have a wind-up Santa toy that he loved to
snatch up and carry around that we finally had to throw away because it
got so chewed up.  Maybe you can rustle up another one and wind it up for
him- he only likes the Santa one.  He loves chicken ferret treats and
raisins, of course.  He likes tunnelling and I always meant to make him a
proper environment for that instead of a box of pinto beans... If there's
something there like that could you help him find it?  He might be
scared- I hope not, but can you please tell him to look for Jenny, Gary's
dog who passed over the Bridge several years ago?  She has one ear that
sticks up in the air and always has a smile on her face.  I think it'll
be awhile yet til his mommy and daddy can join him again- I hope the time
passes a lot faster there than it will for us.  Tell him we love him and
miss him terribly, and that we wish we could have had more time with him
here, but that he will always be alive for us in our hearts and memories.
 
Thanks so much.
 
Jaime
[Posted in FML issue 4135]