I am sitting at my computer.  It is late, as usual, and my mind is
wandering.  I have made myself a pot of tea and a sandwich for my
late-night nourishment.  I have been reading all the hoopla about ferret
shows and breeder ferrets and the like.  I am tired, and in between these
readings, I take numerous micro-naps.  it's not that what I'm reading is
boring - it's just that I have this propensity to sit at my computer
until four am.  I work numerous hours, and by god, I'm not going to let
sleep infringe on my free time.  I read some, and then I drift off...
 
I dream about show ferrets in competition, all fluffed out and
squeaky-clean, their heads lifted high.  I have only seen dog shows, so
forgive me if my mind takes some liberties.  Trotted around on leashes
before the judges, the ferret contestants prance like nobility, their
owners behind them, discreetly using tissues to clean up any "accidents."
The whole idea of it all seems so regal and Olympian.  There are ferrets
of all colors and combinations for everyone to "ooh" and "aah" about.
Flashes from digital cameras go off, recording the event for posterity.
I sink deeper into my dream, images of perfect ferrets changing like a
slideshow in my mind, when I am awakened by a pawing at my leg...
 
It is Dusty.  He is standing on his back legs, leaning on my leg to let
me know that he's there and available, in case I didn't want all my
sandwich.  It is hard for him to stand like this, but he is on a mission.
My eyes start to focus, and I look down and take a closer look at Dusty.
He has recently had adrenal and insulinoma surgery, and boy - is he a
mess.  His hair is all thinned-out and scraggly, and to make matters
worse, his belly is shaved, exposing a three-inch surgical incision.
He is the Frankenstein of ferrets.  Dusty is of the tattooed-ear clan,
definitely not show ferret material.  As a kit, he was not quite a silver
mitt, but a hybrid of white and grey, hence the name "Dusty." Now, in
middle-age and disrepair, he looks like he permanently needs a bath.
 
Frankenferret paws my leg again, because he is still worried that my
sandwich is going to waste.  I show him my empty hand, and he leaves
in a huff.  I watch him walk away.  His belly is extended and misshapen
because of his diseases, and his gait is awkward.  It doesn't stop him,
however.  He is on a mission.  Only temporarily discouraged, he heads
off to check on the status of the dog food bowl.  I am too tired to
care.  I drift off back to sleep in my computer chair...
 
I dream that Dusty is in the ring at a ferret show, standing there in
bewilderment.  People are laughing and throwing popcorn at him as he
waddles around the ring, doing his best to attempt a trot.  Ferret judges
disapprovingly shake their heads at him and head towards more appropriate
prospects.  It is then that I realize that I am in my own dream.  I make
an attempt to comfort Dusty, but it is of no use.  He and I slink back
home in total humiliation, but not before he grabs a kernel of popcorn to
go.  The audience boos as we exit the stadium...
 
Sid saves me from my imagined humiliation, awakening me by pawing at my
other leg.  I cough a bit, choking on my drool.  I take a sip of tea.
He looks up at me sideways, head tilted.  His head is always tilted.  He
survived a serious bacterial infection in his ear, but it left him with
a permanent head-tilt.  I pick Sid up.  All he wants is attention.  He
has no interest in my sandwich.  Sometimes I think all he wants is
understanding.  I do my best to give it to him.
 
Sid has had a hard life.  Banished from his first home for killing a
hamster, we took him in, only to have our resident ferrets beat the crap
out of him on a daily basis.  This went on until the day he got sick.
Somehow, his sickness transformed him.  No longer did the resident
ferrets pick on him at their leisure.  He self-learned some kind of
martial art for ferrets, where he uses his head tilt as an advantage to
roll underneath his opponent.  Even if his victim is on the wrong side,
he circles around to his advantage, and slides underneath them.  It is
amazing to watch.  The resident ferrets, who used to beat the crap out
of him on a daily basis, now cringe in fear when they see him coming.
This might be a somewhat positive thing for Sid, except for one thing;
whether he is getting his butt kicked or kicking butt himself, he is
almost always alone.
 
Sometimes Sid wants to play like any normal ferret.  He will go up to
give one of the other ferrets a playful nudge, but instead of nudging
him back, they end up fleeing in terror, their tails poofed.  He will
cock his head as only he can, and give them a quizzical look before he
gives chase.  He does not understand why they won't play with him.  I
can always tell when Sid catches one of them, because I'll hear them
screaming for their life.  I will get out of my chair and "rescue" them,
but usually the only damage done is some slobbered-on fur.  I try to tell
Sid, "Hey, you murderous schizoid, if you wouldn't try to kill them first
thing in the morning, they might want to play with you in the afternoon."
He cocks his head and looks up at me sideways, trying to understand, but
he just can't.  He then wanders off, either to start another homicidal
rampage, or to take a nap.
 
Except for his head tilt and his temperament, Sid is a perfect ferret.
He is a nice weight and build, and his coat is a beautiful white and
silver.  His face is that of a cherub amongst ferrets.  You have to look
closely to see the horns.  If not for his impairment, I would put him
up against any show ferret.  I think about Sid and his horns as I drift
back to sleep...
 
Sid and I are transformed into the center of an important ferret
competition.  The lights are bright.  It is at the end of the
competition, and tension is in the air as the ferrets and their owners
wait for the announcement of "best of show." There are exotic ferrets of
all kinds, some with long wavy hair, and some with muscular builds like
tiny otters.  Out of all the fanciful ferrets at the show, however, none
has the face of my cherub.  Sid poses on his stand, proud nose in the
air.  I give him a final brushing, but no need - he is already perfect.
 
The judges walk to the microphone stand and the lights go down.
Spotlights start swirling, waiting for the judges to make their
announcement so they can shine on the winner.  Sid tilts his head and
shifts his front feet, posing for the audience.  He is a confident little
ferret, and without shame he knows that he is about to be awarded the
medal for "best of show." Digital cameras flash, and the crowd is abuzz.
One of the judges grabs the microphone.
 
"The winner of third place in the best of show division goes to..." The
crowd quiets, but there is still murmuring in the audience.  All the
ferrets in the competition are nervous, hoping that their name is not
called for this award.  Suddenly, the spotlight shines on Ollie.  "Third
place in the best of show division goes to Ollie, the wavy-haired
cinnamon." The crowd claps politely, but Ollie and his owner show obvious
disappointment.  I think I see Ollie softly crying, his owner dabbing
tears from his eyes with a tissue.  The show continues.
 
"The winner of second place in the best of show division is awarded
to..." Sid is not even paying attention.  He knows he has this all
wrapped up.  He continues to pose for the audience, his eyes closed, a
cherubic smile on his face.  All of a sudden the spotlight shines on Sid.
The judges have just awarded Sid second place in "best of show!" Sid is
not happy.  His eyes, no longer closed and relaxed, are now little slits.
He does a slow burn as the show continues.  No longer posing, he focuses
intently on the announcement of the winner.
 
The spotlight swirls around and focuses on the winning ferret.  "The
winner of best of show, for the year two-thousand and five, goes to...
Prince Buster the second!" The crowd claps and whistles, and Prince
Buster takes a well-deserved bow.  I am mildly disappointed that my
little cherub has only taken second place, but disappointment is the
last thing I see in Sid's face.  His face has quite another look - the
look of a ninja assassin.
 
Calmly, Sid jumps down off his podium and heads over to Prince Buster, as
if to congratulate him.  But I know better.  I start to yell at Sid, "No,
you little schizoid, don't do it!" But it is too late.  I hear screaming
and crying coming from their direction.  Sid is underneath Prince Buster,
in a sort of hammer-lock, biting down on his ear.  Buster is screaming
for all he's worth, his tail poofed.  With each scream, Sid bites down a
bit harder on the new "best of show." Sid is not good with rejection, as
one might gather.  No blood is drawn, thankfully.  My defense will be
easier.
 
Animal Control is called, and we are escorted off the property.  I pay
a small bond, and Sid is released to my custody.  Later that week, I am
served with papers.  Prince Buster's owners are indeed suing.  They want
me to pay to have Buster professionally un-slobbered.  Sid and I end up
in Ferret Court (a show on Animal Planet - who knew?).  Sid manages to
hide his horns, looking quite the cherub.  I start to argue my slobber
defense...
 
I am awakened with a jolt.  I hear whining and crying coming from the
kitchen.  It is almost four in the morning, and the house is dark.  I
walk quickly to see what the problem is, although I already know.  I turn
on the light.  Sid has gotten hold of Shelby, and both their tails are
poofed.  What's with all the tail-poofing?  Can't you two monkeys just
get along?  Unpoof yourselves, already!  I separate them, picking up
Shelby to comfort her.  Her fur is all wet.  Meanwhile, Sid looks up at
me from the floor, head cocked, innocently wondering what's wrong with
Shelby.  I shake my head at the little schizoid.
 
I go back to my computer to read more about the ferret show
controversies, but it all seems so ridiculous now.  I finish my tea, now
cold, and close my email program.  I look over at Dusty and Sid.  Sid is
fast asleep and Dusty is sucking on his ear, both seemingly content with
this arrangement.  I know that Sid will eventually complain about the
little ear-nipper on his back, so I separate them, putting Dusty in the
lower hammock.  I head off to bed, myself.
 
I have to admit; mine are no show ferrets.  They will never win any
medals or blue ribbons.  They are ferrets of the tattooed-ear clan, an
embarrassment to ferret royalty.  The only thing they will ever win is a
place in my heart.  I hope they are happy with that.  I know that I am.
 
Roary
Albuquerque, NM
blog - http://ferretphilosophy.blogspot.com/
[Posted in FML issue 5012]