Carbone, my sweet little black sable given to me by a very sweet lady
and friend, passed away this morning.  Carbone was diagnosed with a
particularly aggressive type of lymphoma last year, and four months ago
a reevaluation of the progress of the disease suggested all forms of
treatment would be futile.  Carbone was in such bad shape, my vet told
me that regardless of the time or day, if he needed to be euthanized, I
should call and he would immediately drop over to help poor him.
 
Carbone went on Bob's Chicken Gravy, being hand fed every four hours.
Once a day he was fed a mix of Similac NeoSure Advance, Similac Isomil2
Advance, and commercially available nucleotides.  He was given water
every two hours, and once or twice a day, depending on the results of a
urine test, sub-q fluids were administered.  Carbone continued on various
medications during this time.  He chafed in the hospital cage, so lived
free-roam with his extended family, only using the hospital cage when
things were really bad.  Until the end, he always came out when I called
his name, even when he could hardly walk.  It always made my eyes water
to see a magnificent male ferret, once over 6 lbs and now under a pound
and a half, painfully stumble over to greet my call.  Those who
erroneously complain that ferrets are not as loyal or loving as dogs
never met my ferrets, and if they ever saw how Carbone reacted, they
would forever quiet their tongues in envy once they realized Carbone
was not a pet; he was a friend.
 
Carbone held on for four more months, but about a week ago, it was clear
the inevitable was exactly that.  He rapidly started losing weight, was
in pain, and had difficulty walking.  Daily visits to the veterinarian
started, some minor adjustments to his medicines were made, and a pain
medication was added.  Two days ago, Carbone started vomiting, and it
was clear his disease had involved his esophagus, which was probably the
source of his pain.  Yesterday Carbone started vomiting blood, and a
few hours later started to have tarry stools.  A midnight visit to the
vet and x-rays showed his thoracic mass had displaced, perhaps even
encompassed his esophagus, his lungs were compressed, and his heart was
pushed left almost a centimeter.  The only question that remained was
Carbone's wishes, which he answered by a desire to be quietly held, and
his refusal to take food, water, nutrical, and even his favorite treat of
all, salad shrimp.  My ethical responsibility was clear, so while I held
him, spoke quietly to him, and rubbed his head, Carbone was helped to
peace at 1125 this morning.
 
Carbone and Tui were more than best friends and they showed me that
ferret behavior was more complex than a simple alpha-male hierarchy.
Individually, neither one could have physically dominated Chrys, or
Silly Boy, or even G.W. (if G.W. had an aggressive bone in his body).
Carbone and Tui formed a partnership, and together ruled the roost.  One
day Bear was in charge, the next day it was Tui and Carbone.  They once
visited Meg in Virginia, and together managed to destroy play tubes, a
dresser drawer, and learned how to open soda bottles.  I never saw the
two of them fight and I could never figure out how they decided they
were equal brothers since Tui was from Sam in New Zealand and Carbone
was from Meg in Virginia.  But they were, and their rule was peaceful
and long.  But it wasn t uneventful.  The two were a constant source of
joy was they practiced mischievous deeds, perfected escapes, and stuck
their beautiful, wide noses into anything that would admit them.  And
they were inseparable; even as Tui was dying, Carbone insisted on being
with him, keeping him company.
 
When both Tui and Carbone became ill, it was like they had made plans to
go out together.  After Tui passed on in March, Carbone hit a low point,
and I was sure I would lose him, but he came back for another 4 months,
maybe because he knew how much Tui s death hurt.  Carbone knew, I think,
Tui was gone.  Sometimes I would be talking to him and without thinking,
I would call him Tui, or even ask where the yellow monster was.  Carbone
would just look at me, then come over and lay his head at my feet.  It
was as if he was saying, Tui s gone, but you still have me.  Carbone
always had a wise and intelligent expression, especially if he did
something silly.  Once, he was on the kitchen table while I was trying to
figure out how to convince him to play dead.  He would roll over, stand
up, but playing dead just wasn t on his mind.  I kept trying, however,
and he started to do repeated rollovers until he just went off the edge
of the table.  He had the same intelligent expression as Newton did after
the apple bonked him on the head, I am sure.  He had the most expressive
gaze I've ever seen in a ferret.  As I looked into his face this morning,
I could imagine him telling me that he held on a long as he could.
 
Carbone was necropsied, not to find the cause of death, which was
confirmed, but to provide samples that have been given to a friend, an
expert on viral disease.  She is working on a PhD in the subject, and
is looking to see if lymphoma in ferrets is viral.  She may not find
anything, but the chance is worth the effort.
 
Goodbye Carbone, my sweet, gentle friend.  Thanks for helping me with
Tui.  I will miss you more than you can ever know.
 
Bob C
[Posted in FML issue 4574]