Dear Ferret Folks-

'Tis the season for curious mustelids to interact with the conifers
that many of us have lugged inside and carefully decorated. Strings of
lights. Tinsel. Candy canes. Ornaments. The works. We try to make them
hold their needles by plunging the cut ends of the trees into those
stationary water baths, the ones with screws to hold the trunk in
place. The idea is to keep the trees quiescent in our homes until
the needles start to brown and fall off by the thousands. Tens of
thousands. It's not quite clear to me what any of that has to do with
Jesus of Nazareth, but it sure does look cool while it lasts.

The decorated trees look cool to us, they also look cool to the
aforementioned mustelids. I can only imagine what a Christmas tree
looks like when you are, say, six inches tall and armed with claws that
make climbing a snap. The temptation to scale one must be *huge*. Me,
I have been fortunate. I've never had a weasel knock a tree down. Yet.
But experience has taught me to exchange the glass ornaments for the
new shiny plastic ones that are all made in China along with everything
else these days. More than one weasel has stolen and stashed a
low-hanging ornament over the years. They don't stash particularly
well.

Neither Todd nor Caff-Pow have scaled this years tree, but they have
both helped themselves to tree water which is apparently an even better
treat than fish-tank water. I would imagine that fish-tank water has
a certain...well...slimy component to it. But tree water? Fresh pine
scent. Bracing stuff. A little like gin. And to get at it you have to
climb beneath the tree, and looking up and around from that position
must be as amazing a sensory experience as anything they've built in
Las Vegas to blow our little minds. If I were six inches tall and loose
in my house I know where I'd be. Flat on my back beneath the tree
watching the lights flash. It's gotta be as good as even the most
vulgar casino. Although in my experience they are all pretty vulgar,
especially the carpets. Sort of like tie-dyed shirts threw up. But I
digress...

Back to the tree water. Cool, fresh, with a decided pine scent. It
draws Todd and Caff-Pow like a magnet. I can hear the little lapping
noises and the occasional snorkel-bubbling. This, their drinking habit
has lead to a peculiar phenomenon which I call "twenty-pound whiskers.
When we tried to jam the cut end of the tree into the little water bath
we saw right away that some of the lowest branches had to be removed to
make a good fit. That wasn't a problem. We heat with wood, and always
keep a sharp hatchet ready on the hearth. My husband shaved a few
boughs off and voila, the trunk fit the way it was supposed to. The
little freshly cut wounds on the trunk bled and are still bleeding
sticky pine sap. They will continue to do so for some time.

*This* year it was Todd who decided to smell the wonderful fresh sap.
It got on his whiskers. I'm sure he noticed, but there was nothing much
that he could do about it. Being a weasel out on a Romp and Stomp
mission, he's since visited beneath every big piece of furniture that
was accessible. I *do* dust, but it's not like I take the shop vac to
the underside of the sofa. There is considerable dust under there and
now, adhering to Todd's vibrissae as well. Love that word. Vibrissae.
Hope I spelled it right, it's Latin for "whiskers." Hence the dark,
fuzzy, twenty-pound whiskers that hang low on one side of his snout.

Now, I don't plan to try to clean them. What would I do...bring a cloth
with rubbing alcohol up to his eyes and sensitive snout to wipe the
coating off? I think not. I am just going to let the fuzz and sap wear
off naturally. By January Todd will only have ten pound whiskers. They
will fall out and replace themselves eventually, but certainly we will
make fun of him in the meantime. We're small like that. Maybe I'll
stick some tinsel to them for an especially festive holiday look. In
the meantime we'll just make fun of his twenty-pound rack.

Happy Holidays,
Alexandra in MA 

[Posted in FML 6902]