I have many times wondered how people who run ferret shelters do the
job that they do.  Now having 11 ferrets ourselves, we have our own
mini-shelter, and I understand a bit better.
 
Sid, Jasper, Scritch & Bubbles, and Shelby were all given to us by
people who no longer wanted them.  Saying "no longer wanted them" is
mostly kind.
 
Sid was a "hamster-killer".  I didn't know this, initially.  The reason
this couple gave to us for wanting to get rid of Sid is that they were
having a new baby, and no longer had the "time" to care for him.  I
later found out that the real reason they wanted to get rid of him was
that they had put a hamster in his cage "for him to play with," and he
did what carnivores do - he killed it.  Their little 3-year-old girl
was traumatized.  Not by the death of the hamster, but by the stupidity
of her parents, realizing that she has their DNA.  That people equate
ferrets with hamsters and gerbils is a fact that still amazes me.
Small + furry = rodent, apparently.  We have the internet, people.  Use
it once in awhile.
 
Jasper had a cage mate who died of a blockage, as best I could tell.
Jasper's cage mate was supposedly the owner's "favorite" ferret.  She
said she couldn't afford the vet bill, and she didn't know what was wrong
with her ferret.  So she did nothing.  She explained the problem to me
and I recognized the symptoms immediately as a probable blockage.  Any
ferret-wise vet could have figured it out, but they never got the chance
because she never went.  It didn't matter, anyways, because she wasn't
going to pay for the surgery.  So her "favorite" ferret suffered until
she eventually died.  When this ferret died, she no longer wanted Jasper.
She worked as a supervisor in one of our biggest hospitals, so she wasn't
stupid or poverty-stricken.  It just boggled my mind.  The whole time I
talked to this woman I wanted to spit, but I smiled and nodded my head.
When she asked us to take Jasper I was relieved, thinking that she might
have changed her mind.  He's one of our best little boys.  And she's
probably still a self-centered idiot with an extra $500.
 
I don't know the entire story behind Scritch and Bubbles.  They were
being kept all day in their cage inside of a garage.  The owners, a young
couple, apparently ended up living with someone else and the ferrets
weren't allowed into the house.  My wife met them at the vet's.  I think
they were bringing in a dog, or something.  I guess the dog was allowed
into the house.  When they saw my wife with Puff, they asked her if she
wanted two more ferrets.  She said yes, as one who has 8 ferrets and
head trauma would say (just kidding, honey).  I understand and yet don't
understand the young couple's dilemma.  People have problems.  And then
people create their own problems.  But hey, they loved animals.  At
least, they loved the IDEA of animals.  To try and figure it out will
make blood shoot out of your ears.
 
Shelby is a sweet little girl, about two years old or so.  Her owner
moved to a new apartment, where... surprise... they don't allow ferrets.
She then gave Shelby to a friend of her's at work, "just to watch for
awhile."  Her friend watched Shelby for a long while, and then when the
friend realized that the original owner wasn't going to be able to take
Shelby back, the friend took Shelby to her mom's house.  Her mom had
bunches of dogs, and couldn't let Shelby out very much, although she did
try.  To the friend's credit, she found out that I had ferrets and asked
if I could take Shelby.  After hearing this whole ridiculous story, my
wife and I decided to take her in.  Now, after talking to the original
owner, I found out that she and her brother loved this ferret very much.
They took her everywhere.  And that's why they moved to an apartment
which doesn't allow ferrets.  The End.  I gotta stop.  I feel blood
rushing to my ears.
 
So, what's my point?..
 
I used to hate people.  People aren't my favorite things now, exactly,
but I see things a bit differently.  I would see a screaming kid in a
store and want to bat their little eyes out.  It troubled me that this
was my initial response.  We're supposed to love kids.  We're supposed to
love our own kind.  Why we're supposed to, I have no idea, but I think I
read it in a book or something.  But again, it troubled me, this hatred
of people that I sometimes have.  Now, I've always remembered loving
animals.  In my later years, my affections have concentrated on ferrets.
While despising innocently crying children (and not so innocently
smirking adults), I have the patience of Job with ferrets, even one who's
just about bitten my finger off.  So, wanting to fit into human society
(because I am human and need to earn a living), I came up with a
different way to see people:
 
When I see a little bawl-bag in the mall, crying for no apparent reason,
I picture the kid as a baby ferret.  I actually picture their face as a
furry little mask, and instantly my compassion level goes up.  I realize
that there must be a reason for their distress, and my nerves quickly
start to de-frazzle.  Kits and kids are not really all that different,
I think to myself.  They are all just baby somethings, with different
problems and different tail lengths.
 
I see an old lady driving way too slowly in front of me.  I could never
figure that one out.  I'm getting old myself, and I manage to drive at a
normal speed.  I could understand if the old lady was walking, but she's
got a gas pedal.  Just step on the pedal, lady!  How hard can it be?  And
then I remember one of my older ladies, Deezel.  She was about 6 years
old.  She and I would be in the kitchen, and I would go to get something
out of the fridge.  She would nonchalantly walk in front of me, saunter
up to the open door fridge door and take a peek.  Could you walk any more
slowly, ma'am?  I would get what I needed to get, but she would still be
standing up at the door, looking at all the goodies, and feeling the
wonderful cold air as it drifted down.  There I am, hands full, wanting
to close the door - but do you think that she would see that I'm done and
get outta the way?  I would often put down what I got out of the fridge,
make my sandwich, put the stuff back, and THEN pick Deezel up because she
would still be standing there.  Sometimes I would just stand there for
a while holding her, and wonder how much time we had left together.  The
fridge door would still be open and the cold air would still be pouring
out.  Eventually, I would close the fridge door and put Deezel down.
Often, I forgot my sandwich as I went back to the living room.  Damned
old weasel.  I would go back to the kitchen.  No, I'm not opening the
door.  I'm getting old, myself.
 
So I use that memory of mine.  I picture this old lady, driving down the
freeway at 35mph, as one of my older ferrets, mask and all, and think to
myself that I probably have more time left than she does.  Cancer doesn't
care whether it takes an old lady human or an old lady ferret.  Maybe the
old lady is driving slowly because she's on her way to see the doctor and
she's just flat-out scared to get there and find out that she doesn't
have very much time left.  Or maybe she's just a pain-in-the-ass.  Who
knows?  I drive around the old lady while I contemplate this, and I'm on
my way in a sort of peace, at least for the next mile or so.
 
OK, OK, so again... what's my point, besides the fact that I possibly
have a mental illness?..
 
October, you've explained your anger and frustrations very well.  And as
you have pointed out, people are just downright thoughtless.  And mean.
And clueless.  And desperate.  But those aren't the reasons you should
give up doing what you do.  Those are the reasons you started doing what
you do in the first place -- because people are thoughtless, mean,
clueless, and desperate.  Give up what you're doing because you're broke,
or your knees don't work, or whatever, but don't give it up because you
don't see the good of the world in people.  You see the good in the
world in ferrets, a good worth preserving, and that's good enough.  Take
that ball and run with it, October, as far as you can.  And when you
eventually go tothe bridge yourself, to say hello once again to all the
ferrets you've lost, you will be smothered in fur and kisses for all
eternity.  And no poo.
 
Roary
Albuquerque, NM
[Posted in FML issue 4928]