Sorry; I was so exhausted yesterday, I accidently posted this on the Fellow
Ferret Geeks List, instead of here.  Oops.
 
I have just made the very long and tiring drive back to Missouri after
attending a second family funeral in a month.  Returning home, I downloaded
nearly 400 emails, about 1/2 ferret related, that were sent while I was
gone.  I will attempt to read and answer each one in the next few days (or
week).  All in all, it was a very strange Christmas this year.
 
While I was gone, Andrew (my son who was babysitting my carpet monkeys)
called to say Trillian's mystery illness returned.  After several vet
visits and several nursing all-nighters, Trillian passed away, wrapped in a
blanket and in Andrew's arms.  A necropsy done the next day (at my
insistence) showed she died from a rupture of a small aneurysm in her
ascending aortic artery which did not show up on X-ray.  It was actually
one of the things both my vet and I suspected, but when the X-rays didn't
show anything conclusive, it went down on our list of "possibles." It
turned out to be much smaller than we suspected and at a strange angle
which did not show up in conventional X-rays.  From Trillian's history (as
much as I have) and periodic illnesses, it is likely the aneurysm existed
for quite some time.  It is unlikely anything could have been done to fix
the defect and Trillian's death was a matter of time.
 
Trillian was a huge female DEW adopted from Oregon.  I have no idea of her
past history except that she had lost her left eye prior to adoption and I
think she was once used as a breeder.  I think she was between 6 and 8
years of age at her death.  Trillian was a very quiet ferret who loved
warm laps and the occasional stolen chocolate chip.  Although her head was
normal-sized for a female, the rest of her body looked as if it came from a
normal-sized male, which (to me at least) gave her a comical, almost
saurian appearance.  She was blinded in her left eye, and would bump into
things when wildly rushing around or mad dancing.
 
One of Trillian's best buddies was Sam Luc, and although they were usually
quiet, they knew how to get down and party from time to time.  They
constantly sleep together and would squabble over chicken bones and a
single large furry monkey that squeaks when you pull it's tail.  Sammy
thought it belonged in the bookshelf box, while Trillian thought it should
live under my desk.  Each day, I would see one or the other bouncing along
with that big ol' monkey in their jaws.  For some reason, Sammy has left
that monkey under my desk.
 
Soon after I was adopted, and while I still hated my new parents, my dad
did an end-around my obstinate behavior by distracting me with the
discovery of natural history.  He started with astronomy lessons, then bird
watching, and then learning about mammals.  He recognized a great curiosity
within me and encouraged my trips of discovery.  When my mom complained of
my bowl of scorpions, the black widow I kept in a jar, the tadpoles, and
bugs, and feathers, and rocks, and owl pellets, and even the variety of
bones I found and dragged back home, dad would always shush her by saying,
"What's one more bug or spider in this old house?"
 
That's how I felt about Trillian when I first adopted her.  I thought,
"What one more ferret in my house?" as I was asked to adopt more than one
fert while back in Oregon.  I knew, as my dad did, that at a simplistic
level, a single ferret in a large group makes little impact.  Yet, at a
deeper level, a single ferret could mean everything.  My dad knew that
when he carefully listened as I explained what the bones were from the owl
pellet I was pulling apart with my mom's favorite tweezers, or when he
carefully explained that my treasure of dinosaur bones came from a cow he
had left on the back of the ranch to feed the coyotes and turkey buzzards
after his farming had driven the rabbits and deer away.
 
To me, Trillian's importance was far more than the successful adoption of
an injured and unwanted ferret.  She was a partner in the discovery of
truth, an affirmation--more like an afflatus--of the wisdom found in the
understanding of natural history.  She was a tiny peek behind the workshop
door.  Her truths seemed simple but carried a profoundness I could never
ignore: Always stop when someone scratches your head and back.  Never turn
down a treat; you can always hide it for later.  Play.  Get lots of sleep
even though things are almost too interesting to pass by.  There is never a
reason to fight a piss ant.  Do not fear those below you on the food chain.
Vacuuming is satanic.  You may reap what you sow, but it is always more fun
to dig it out.  You can always sleep better when inside the sweatshirt with
just your nose poking out.  A nap on a lap is better than two in the bed.
Or going number two in the bed.  Cats were placed on earth to be tormented,
and dogs to be stared at.
 
My dad taught me that the simplist and quietest thing could be full of
wisdom and truth; Trillian affirmed that teaching.  She was never really
playful, never really outstanding.  She was often overlooked by visitors.
Yet, in her quiet and undemanding way, she was a teacher of truths.
 
I shall miss that great lump of white fur.
 
Bob Ca and 16 MO' Ferts in Misery (Missing Trillian)
[Posted in FML issue 2913]