Quidni
Dear, mischievous, affectionate, trouble-making, obstinate, strong-willed,
loving, precious Woozle Child.
First into mischief, last to tire out.
Seeker of things to get into, that usually need help getting out of.
Intense cuddler.
Maker of "Gargoyle Faces."
Fastest on the "roll over" and first to get the treat.
Spastic dancer.
Mama's girl.
Little "Bratwurst."
Stumpy legged, golden honey chocolate peanut butter colored little joy maker.
 
Mishandled and neglected by a previous owner, once an insecure and neurotic
biter, terrified by Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Major or by any sudden
sound or movement, with an appetite like a pirahna and a two-second
attention span.  You chomped your way into my heart through sympathy, then
cuddled in to stay, surprised by love.  Within a few short months you
transformed into an affectionate, curious, delightful companion.  Sudden
sounds which once would have sent you running away in panic, now only
brought you in haste to investigate.  Kissy, cuddly, intensely jealous of
your lap time with me, following me around the room like a little stubby
golden shadow, begging to be picked up.  Once you had no social skills, no
trust of others; but you fit in with this family and the other ferrets in a
way no one thought possible.  I promised to love you, protect you, provide
for you and to always have time for you.  No one would ever take you away
from me, no one would ever again harm you or make you afraid.
 
I never thought I would see a time when I would have to try to protect you
from yourself.  Tuesday morning you were fine, active and alert.  Tuesday
night you were crawling to the water bottle, to the litter pan, back to bed.
Your own body's immune system is fighting you, destroying your red blood
cells, marking your skin with bright red bruises.  Your bone marrow couldn't
keep up with the sudden demand. So fast, you slid so fast. Where once a trip
to the vet would produce hissing and angry struggles at the indignity of
shots and thermometers, now you have been poked and pricked, filled full of
antibiotics, fluids and steroids, and you didn't even flinch.  You are still,
not through calm, but through exhaustion.
 
Even so, it is not enough.  Heroic measures are not enough.  It struck too
fast.  This monster eating your red blood cells, swiftly stealing your
strength and your life, has conquered the best that the doctor and love
could do.  At 1:00 pm, Wednesday March 27, you crossed over to wait at the
Rainbow Bridge.
 
Dear, sweet, mischievous, trouble-finding, strong-willed, loving Woozle
Child.  This trouble, I couldn't lift you out of.
 
Quidni
Born in the Fall 1994
Adopted October 23, 1995
Died March 27, 1996
[Posted in FML issue 1521]