This has been an eventful day. I wasn't expecting it to be, but that
never stops the day, does it? Oh, work was fine. And boring. I'm a day
manager at Domino's. My job is an education in patience and compassion.
Kinda. In other words, even idiots have to eat. But work was not
eventful, unless you count the drunken/insane lady who calls once a
month to report some problem or another. She alone has earned me my
Domino's degree in butt-smooching. I wasted a half an hour today
talking to her, but I digress...

About three weeks ago we "rescued" an older ferret in a pet store. He
was a big guy, obviously not a kit, and we later found out that the
person who gave/sold him to the pet store did the same thing with six
others. Apparently this big guy came from a business of seven. He's
not a looker. He looks like a silver mitt, except for the front half of
his body which looks like he crawled into an ash can and never bathed
again. But he is a lover with a great disposition. And I kinda like the
crawled-into-an-ash-can look.

Not to mention we got a deal from the pet store. Ninety bucks, plus
tax. The two kits they had left were $150 each. I say this tongue in
cheek about the "great deal." I think the pet store was glad to get rid
of this older guy. And we were happy to take him. I named him for the
vehicle that brought him home - Scooter. Don't ask how my wife and I
got this guy home on a scooter, but we did.

So, that took our business up to nine. I worried enough with eight. But
that all changed when I got home tonight. I saw what I *thought* was
Wild Thing in a harness. Wild Thing is a beautiful big boy, the leader
of his part of the business... well, except if Shelby is awake.
Anyways, I picked him up and right away I knew something was different.
This was not Wild Thing. This was a strange ferret in a harness - even
bigger than WT. So my wife starts explaining. OK, I guess we can do
this. His name is Stewart. Next thing I know, out of the corner of my
eye I spot another strange ferret. His legs look like he's part panda
with a cinnamon body. He was wearing a harness too. Funny how she
didn't mention this one yet... I took both their harnesses off and
looked them over. They both were fat, healthy and clean. I figure I
am much more lucky than a shelter who mainly gets ferrets who are
surrendered because they are sick and dying. I look up into the night
sky and thank one of the lucky stars I am currently renting.

My wife starts 'splaining again. So does my son, who tells me that if
we didn't take these guys that their owners were going to take them to
the pound. Something about people having to work too much, or some BS.
As far as I'm concerned, you take on a ferret you do what you gotta do.
Well, now I was going to do what *I* had to do. Worry.

I read about the Florida shelters, and the heart-breaking amount of
ferrets being surrended there. This damn economy has made things a
living nightmare for ferrets everywhere. So, I tell myself that I'm
doing a good thing. I even rationalize it, and tell myself that if
every ferret owner took one or two more we could maybe ease this
problem. Sounds good, aye? Not so practical, I admit, but Chairman
Mao would have been proud of my communistic idea. I think I will
write President-Elect Obama about it.

So now I got three extra mouths to feed, nails to clip, and Lord knows
what kind of diseases I'll have to try and stave off eventually. See,
I told you I was a worrier. And in the middle of this I am trying to
finish a song that someone commisioned me to write. And I am making
no headway at a high velocity. Life is good... and hard sometimes. I
remind myself that worrying is good because it means that you actually
*have* something to worry about. I imagine when I'm old and grey
(sometime next week) I will have less to worry about. Maybe. Maybe
not...

Then I read the good Reverend Gordon's post about Peekaboo... Talk
about worrying. I have to tell you, it was not a funny post. Well,
it kinda was. I am very glad to hear that Peekaboo made it through
this ordeal. I had never heard of a medication called
"Quantifrolicdookmetaseine" before. Nor had I ever heard of a "dook
attack." I looked up "Quantifrolicdookmetaseine" on Google. Let me
tell you, Google is supposed to be such a wonderful search engine...
I got back no results, but instead Google asked me if I meant
"Quantifrolicokmetaseine." How in the hell do I know if I meant
"Quantifrolicokmetaseine" or not? That's why I was looking it up, you
idiots. So I clicked on the provided link and wala... no results for
"Quantifrolicokmetaseine" either. Well Google, thanks for asking.
Sheesh. Now I have something new to worry about. On an aside, I really
do hope things go well for Peekaboo and Gordon, even if I have no idea
what's been going wrong. I'm trying not to laugh and cry at the same
time. This is not an easy list to belong to.

Well, anyways... While I still have to sort this all out, I will do it
while looking into the eyes of three fuzzies who need my wife and I.
And I will worry. That has to be a good thing, right? I mean, having
something to worry about? Does anybody know where I can score some
Quantifrolicdookmetaseine? I don't even know what it does, but if it
can take you from four feet in the air to OK, I could sure use some...

[Posted in FML 6152]