A potential tragedy was averted in our household several weeks ago.  I
haven't posted it to the FML since then, for fear the other readers would
think I'm a Bad Ferret Dad for letting it happen in the first place.
However, it's important to share information like this in order to prevent
future tragedies, and at least this story has a happy ending.
 
When we brought Baldrick home, we crawled around on our hands and knees,
using plywood and other materials to block off gaps in the running boards
and such things, and congratulated ourselves on providing such a safe
living space for our ferret.  There was one trouble spot that got by us,
though, and of course Baldrick helpfully found it.
 
In the mornings Baldrick likes to hang out with me in the bathroom so he
can play in the shower and leap out and lick the water off my ankles when
I'm drying off, and be generally entertaining while I'm shaving and
performing other grooming tasks.  He's not allowed in there unattended,
however, for various reasons (e.g.  we don't want him taking laps around
that funny porcelain swimming pool in the corner).  I let my guard down
that morning, though, and left him there while I walked around the house
filling various bowls with Iam's.  (The story about how we came to keep cat
food in a cupboard in the bathroom is one of those domestic sagas too long
and involved to recount here).  When I returned with the sack of cat food,
I shut the cupboard and went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
 
Fifteen minutes later, we noticed Baldrick's mysterious disappearance.
We walked around the house checking the usual comfy curl-up spots (sock
drawer, towel cupboard, under the bed), and squeaking his fuzzy dinosaur
(which always gets his attention).  No response.  That was when I
remembered about the cupboard, and realized he must have gotten locked in
there, with its unlimited supply of Iam's crunchies.  We looked, but no
fuzzy was forthcoming.  Further examination revealed a small gap between
some boards which led, apparently, to the drawers on the other side.  Was
he in the drawers with the nail clippers?  He was not.  Out came the
drawers, and we saw what we had never noticed before: under the bottom
drawer, there was no plywood as we expected, but simply a gap, leading who
knows where, with the exposed floorboards showing underneath.  Worse still,
a heating duct lay open, not quite reaching the vent we always supposed was
safe!  Our fears were confirmed when the dinosaur's squeaks were answered
by a small, faraway, scratchy sound which could only have been Baldrick.
 
We turned the thermostat down as far as it would go.  We squeaked and
begged and implored at the duct opening, and the echoing sounds of
Baldrick's footsteps grew louder, but apparently there was a steep incline
or some other obstacle which prevented him from coming out.  The thought
of our ferret trapped in a dark, hot, galvanized aluminum labyrinth with a
direct connection to the gas furnace had me in shock and Scott in tears,
and I redoubled my squeaking efforts while Scott paced madly around the
house trying to figure out what to do.  A few minutes later, Scott
instructed me to stop squeaking and to come into the kitchen; he had the
vent in that room disassembled and his arm up to his shoulder reaching into
the duct.  He said he had heard a noise.  The kitchen vent was connected to
the main duct by a vertical connector about four feet long; doubtful that
even a ferret could climb up that.  Our hero Scott ingeniously threaded a
towel through the opening and draped it down into the duct, and I held the
end of the towel while he took up squeaking duty.  I felt a tug on the
towel!  Almost immediately we saw the unmistakable shape of Baldrick's
head, and he emerged completely gray, covered in dust and the relieved
kisses of his humans.
 
Now, of course, the vents have all been thoroughly inspected, the cupboards
have new latches on them, and the humans are painfully aware of how even a
moment's inattention can lead to disaster.  At the risk of being perceived
as a negligent ferret dad, I wanted to share the moral of this story: be
alert!  Even though they are well-suited for living with humans who take
the responsibility of providing a safe living environment, they are equally
ill-suited as companions for foolish humans who live in houses with weird
ducts and other dangers.  With one moment of human thoughtlessness, a
ferret's existence can transform from the most blissful tableau of domestic
tranquility into "The Perils of Pauline".
 
Hug a ferret today!
 
-Brandon
+ a thankfully intact Baldrick, who explored thoroughly, but still can't
figure out where all the ducks are supposed to be.
[Posted in FML issue 2616]