Little was a black eyed white ferret with black streak down his back.  He
was deaf.  I did not know for over a year.  The others would get him when
it was time for treats, or when I came home.
 
Little was deaf.  But he sat, rolled over, and begged, and learned to do
so with the others in the same amount of time...a matter of days.
 
When I would hold him up to tell him something, his tiny mouth would move
in immitation.  I had no idea he was different for the longest time.
 
We went to the woods to leave salt blocks, apples, and bags of corn for
a small herd of deer there that were so weak they did not get up when we
first found them and approached.  We would take a ferret along with us in
a carrier around our necks.  Rick would bring the heavier salt block, and
I would lug the apples and 20 pound bag of corn.  Afterwords, we would
romp around the woods with a ferret......a significant distance from the
deer.
 
When it was Littles turn to see the woods, he went down on the ground
with bristled tail, and instead of joyously exploring, he let out such a
horrifying scream, it was literally like a mountain lion scream.  People
heard and came running from across an extremely large open field.  People
that looked like specks in the distance heard Little scream, and ran to
see what had happened.
 
I had my back turned at the time.  My friend was playing with him when I
heard the scream.  I grabbed a fallen branch and came running, figuring
an animal was tearing Little to pieces, or that there was a mountain lion
attacking Rickand Little.  Like that would have done any good.  But you
just react when these things happen..  Little was shaking for the longest
time.  Rick and I were a sobby mess.
 
Nothing had happened, except that Little was afraid, and could not know
what he sounded like.That was the first we realized he was deaf.  It took
a good time to catch him.  He had his teeth bared and hissed at me.He was
fluffed up, backing up, and ready to attack.  He was like a wild animal
cornered.
 
He lived a number of years afterwords, with Baby, Cheyene, Wolf, and
Tiger always letting him know I was home, or that dinner was ready, or
that it was time to perform tricks for treats.  We never took him to
the woods again.  We never heard another noise from him that I can now
recall, though age takes its toll on those little grey cells.
[Posted in FML issue 4823]