Parker arrived at the shelter early last summer with his buddy Lewis.
They were found abandoned in a park, malnourished and looking for food.
Over the months that Parker was at the shelter it became increasingly
clear that he was not adoptable. He was blind in one eye and losing
sight in the other, and he had lost all of his fur, presumably due to
adrenal disease, because when he was given a melatonin implant, it
eventually grew back.

Unfortunately, other ailments were not as evident, and went more or
less untreated over time. Insulinoma, severe periodontal disease,
swollen glands, and progressive lethargy and weakness in all four limbs
left Parker almost helpless when his buddy Lewis died at the beginning
of March, 2009. When my wife, who volunteers at the shelter once a
week, told me that Parker was now 'alone' in the world, we decided that
we had to give him a foster home for the rest of his life. Had we known
just how ravaged his poor body was, we would have acted long ago. But
we didn't, and it just kills me to think of how bad a life Parker had
to endure before he came to us.

I highly doubt that before he got to the shelter that he ever really
knew the loving touch of a human hand, or the comfort of a soft, clean
bed. He may never have seen a vet, because if he had, his teeth and
gums would not have become so badly infected and inflamed. It must have
caused Parker excruciating pain just to try to chew his kibble. That is
probably one reason that his weight and strength deteriorated.

When Parker came to us on March 7, and it struck us just how strong a
will this ferret must have to still be alive, I started to call him
"Mr." Parker, my way of showing him respect for all of the pain and
hardship he had endured to just stay alive. We did not know if Mr.
Parker would be with us for a week, a month, or a year, but whatever
we could possibly do for him, I knew we must do. We started him on
antibiotics immediately and changed his diet from the kibble that
must have caused him immense pain to a high-protein, warm soup that
he did not have to chew. We got him started on dexamethasone for his
insulinoma, began using a strong oral gel to relieve the pain and
infections in his mouth, and we 'scent mapped' the rooms where he would
be allowed to go, in order to help with his near-blindness. We gave him
5-6 feedings daily of his soup, and OH how he loved it! He started
gaining weight, started gaining strength, and as the antibiotics and
oral gel began to help, his swollen lymph nodes also decreased in size.
We worked with him after every meal to try to strengthen his four very
weak limbs, and began to make progress. Some hope began to arise that
maybe we could help Mr. Parker enough so that he could still enjoy the
life that a ferret is meant to enjoy in his new forever home.

Unfortunately, as the calendar turned to April, Mr. Parker's progress
stalled, and he slowly began to regress and get weaker. Despite his
mouth surgery, which was healing well, and despite his second
melatonin implant, his month of amoxicillin, his dexamethasone, and
his nutritious soup, Mr. Parker began to deteriorate. He legs began
to weaken again, his lymph nodes got bigger, and when his voracious
appetite for his beloved soup began to waver, we knew something wasn't
right.

On Thursday, we scheduled an appointment for the following Monday with
our regular vet, rather than the shelter's vet, and were going to get
Mr. Parker another examination and a Lupron shot, thinking that maybe
it was the adrenal disease getting worse that was causing Mr. Parker's
deterioration. We were going to pay for it, essentially now turning Mr.
Parker from a 'foster' ferret into our adopted ferret. The shelter had
already paid for Mr. Parker's other treatments, and we didn't want to
put any more of a financial burden on them. We had become so attached
to this ferret with an undying spirit that we felt he deserved any
realistic chance at medical help that we could provide.

On Friday night, when Mr. Parker left some of his soup in his bowl
twice, I feared that things had taken a turn for the worse. He could
barely walk across the floor to get to his food, then all he wanted
to do was sleep afterwards. On Saturday morning, he continued to get
worse, but he still seemed as if he would be okay until his vet
appointment on Monday morning. He still showed us a strong will to
live and a feisty attitude. However, when his 5 pm feeding and meds
came around, the fire in his heart had dwindled. He barely tried to
touch his soup, and just laid next to the bowl. His breathing was very
shallow, and his eyes, as little as he could see us, were pleading for
help. We knew then that his body, which by all rights should have
given out long ago, had finally failed him. Mr. Parker had been hiding
what must have been terrible pain from progressing lymphoma, which was
hidden from us by all of his other problems, and finally his will could
no longer force his ravaged body to work.

We took Mr. Parker to the emergency animal hospital, holding him and
caressing him gently all the way. We held him and whispered our love to
him as the vet helped him to drift off to sleep for the last time. He
would finally be free from his pain, would finally go to a place where
he could be just a carefree ferret again.

Mr. Parker taught me just how strong a spirit such a small animal could
have. Through years of neglect and pain he fought on, with only a will
to survive guiding him. When he finally found his forever home, his
final destination, it was just too late. It kills me to think of what
Mr. Parker endured before he came to us, because this was a strong and
proud ferret who deserved so much better. Yet through my sadness, I can
find some solace in knowing that Mr. Parker passed on from this world
surrounded by love, comforted by those whose lives he had touched so
deeply in just six short weeks. He had enjoyed somewhere around 250
meals of his beloved soup, his mouth and teeth were healed, and as my
wife so aptly put it, 'He didn't die alone on the shelter floor'.

There are other ferrets out there like Mr. Parker that need a special
foster parent, someone who knows enough about ferrets and ferret health
and who can care enough about one particular ferret to give a 'forever
home' to an ailing ferret that might not have much time left. Please,
if you ever find yourself in a situation where you have the chance to
help a real 'special needs' ferret like Mr. Parker, step outside of
your normal boundaries and take the chance. Yes, you'll be subjecting
yourself to certain heartache when their time comes, but with that
heartache will come something greater that will enrich your life in a
way you could not have imagined. I know now in my heart how much more
it would hurt to go through the rest of my life knowing that Mr. Parker
died on the shelter floor instead of in our arms. We will honor Mr.
Parker in the future by helping other ferrets who would otherwise be
'unadoptable'. If writing this helps to persuade even one other person
to do the same, then I know that Mr. Parker would be proud of me.

Good-bye, Mr. Parker. You will never be forgotten.

Jeff

In Memory of Neo and Mr. Parker

Caring for Trinny, Morphy, Baby Girl, Luna, and Dozer

[Posted in FML 6322]