Dear Mary-

No, Todd is not my husband. My hubby is named Dann, and for reasons
that completely escape me he loves me very much. I love him, too. More
than I can express. That said, yes, there are indeed times that I would
love to lock him in the bathroom for a few hours. He could make a nest
out of the towels the way gorillas make a new leaf nest every night. I
tease Dann that he is becoming a "silver back" gorilla, much to his
displeasure. Certainly, his beard is developing white Santa streaks,
probably from living with me. My *own* hair is developing white streaks
from *being* me!

Todd the Butter-Butt is a very special weasel. I know, they are all
special but Todd is extra special. He was named for a friend of mine.
Many FML'ers know his story but many newcomers to our list do not. So
I will tell it, appropriately for Thanksgiving...a time, I hope, for
reflection, and gratitude for our many blessings (most especially for
our friends and family!) and not just power-eating.

Todd Leutold was a frequent contributor to the FML. He posted wonderful
stories of life with his business, which he called "The Fuzz-Butt Rodeo
Clowns." He had I think 11 ferrets and a ten year old daughter whom he
loved very much. His great ambition was to be a regular contributing
author to Ferrets Magazine, which was then in printed format. He had
*just* achieved that goal when disaster struck.

The news got out in the neighbourhood that Todd had a new big-screen
TV. Well, to some addled minds that meant that he must be rolling in
dough. So one evening in August of '07 some drug-ridden thugs (It's
funny how the little details fade away over time. I no longer remember
if it was crack or meth.) hitched T-shirts up over their faces and
knocked on his door. They pushed their way in. They battered Todd and
tossed him around. Todd was 50, and a fragile diabetic. He died from
the battering. The ferrets started slipping out the open front door.

The thugs escaped in different directions, like the slimy rats they
were. (Apologies to rat lovers. I have known some most excellent rats!)
One was apprehended that night, having crashed the get-away car just a
few blocks from Todd's house. Do you ever wonder what drugs are really
all about? The thug rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and smoked
the rest of the drugs as fast as he could while the Cops cut the car
open with the Jaws of Life. That's what drugs are all about.The other
two thugs were apprehended a few days later at, I think, a mall in New
Jersey.

At times over the years I have received kind and flattering compliments
about my writing here on the FML. I promise you, it is beyond my
ability to tell you how all this makes me feel. I do not have the
words. My hands cannot type the sentences. My keyboard blurs, and yeah,
a few tears fall. I remember all the times Todd and I would e-mail one
another privately and try to make the other laugh. Oh, my lord, he
could be *desperately* funny. He was much funnier off-list than on, as
many of us are. The FML is and should be "family friendly." Off-list
Todd and I swapped scathing or riotous posts, deep into the night.
"LOL" was a reality, not a literary convention. He made me laugh until
my belly *hurt.* He was my husband's friend, too. They would swap
foot-ball team insults. For my hubby, the Pats were *the* thing. For
Todd, it was all about the Steelers. Oh, the guy insults they swapped
in football season! Wierd, testosterone-fueled jibes that were
incomprehensible to me, but made perfect sense to them.

Then, Todd was *murdered* and it all stopped. Kind of like smashing a
car into a phone pole. That kind of "stopped." If you have not lived
it, you don't know and I'm glad that you don't.

The ferrets? The Cops got most of them, but they didn't know how many
to look for in the first place. All the ferrets found were successfully
re-homed, thanks to some excellent ferret folks.

The thugs? State prison in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Murder
during a home invasion and robbery is considered a real crime, there.
I remember sentences of 20 plus, 30 plus years. Works for me. It's a
start, anyway.

One of the strangest things about a murder is that the deceased's
life is laid bare, there are no secrets, anymore. No dignity, either.
Shortly after his death the papers printed as many of Todd's secrets as
they could find, and those made me cry, too. He was not a perfect man.
He had made a horrendous mistake, and paid for it. Obviously he was
terribly ashamed of it, none of his FML friends had *any* clue. It
wasn't something to be proud of, but he had changed course and pulled
himself up by his bootstraps and you know, that 's *hard.* Danged hard.
Kudos to Todd, for making a new life for himself. Kudos to *any* of us
who change course, do the bootstrap thing, do the heavy lifting in life
that is often as painful as the original mistakes we made themselves.
If you have successfully outlived the worst of your excesses, be very,
*very* thankful.

Shortly after this happened I new weasel came into our home. And his
name is...Todd. And I have never forgotten, buddy, never forgotten,
and I never will. Thank you for your friendship.

Happy Thanksgiving FML. *Treasure* the people in that second family
that we all make for ourselves.

Alexandra in MA
PS Todd buddy, if you are reading this, two words. Ham. Wrapper.

[Posted in FML 6892]