>Berret was a happy ferret.  He was warm, well cared for, clean, and
>healthy.  He had lots of good food to eat whenever he got hungry.  He had
>fresh water to drink whenever he got thirsty.  "Why I even have the best
>toys in they whole world." he thought as he lazily reached over and
>squeaked his favorite squeaky-toy.  Of course Berret's world was only as
>large as his house, but to him that was very big.
>
>Most of all, Berret loved and was loved by his favorite person in his whole
>world, a little girl named Melony.  Melony had picked Berret over at least
>ten other ferrets in the pet store, and as far as Berret was concerned, he
>had picked Melony over all of the other humans that had looked at him.  He
>wasn't exactly the prettiest ferret.  He was sort of grey.  His head was
>almost all white, except for a grey "cap" on top and funny white stripe
>down the middle, with a grey dot right in the center of the stripe.  His
>feet looked like he was wearing white socks.  Berret's eyes weren't quite
>like the other ferrets in the pet store either.  While theirs were almost
>black, Berret's eyes were a deep red, that flashed like rubies whenever he
>got excited.
 
For those of you who might remember, this was the opening of the story
"Berret's Brother" , published last year on the FML.  The "Berret Stories"
were inspired by a real Barret who was just as loveable and intelligent as
the fictional account.  He was one of the first rescues into the 4 "Li'l
Paws Ferret Shelter.  He quickly won his way into our hearts and there he
stayed.  Berret became our "Mascot", appearing on the first copies of my
book, "The Ferret Owner's Manual", and on our shelter letterhead.
 
Last week Berret became very ill; an auto-immune disease.  In spite of
everything we could do, Berret died early Sunday morning in my wife's arms.
He knew he was dying.  You could see the fear in his eyes.  I held him and
told him that I loved him and that it was alright to go.  Joan held him and
rocked him until he calmed.  She kissed him lightly on the nose.  He left us
then.
 
Dick B.
[Posted in FML issue 1847]