Greatings from less-snowy-than-before Alaska.
We had an unusual, but potentially tragic incident happen a couple of days
ago that I would like to share with you. I was in the office early one
morning working on the computer. Lori, our little year old female quite
frequently comes in just for the company, and to walk across the keyboard.
Another favorite place is the office waste basket. Usually the basket
contains only paper, and she loves to burrow into it and roll around. This
time, along with the paper. there were a couple of aluminum soda cans, the
kind with "flip top" lids. I heard a little comotion coming from the basket,
and when I looked, Lori was standing on the top of the paper with the can
standing straight up at the end of her snout. Her mouth was open, and it
looked for all the world like she had learned to "chug-a-lug" the contents.
It stopped being at all funny when I realized that she had gotten her teeth
hooked in the can and flip top. I picked her up, but could not free her. It
finally took me holding her while my wife disengaged the now panic stricken
furball from the can. She had an indentation in her lower lip that lasted an
hour or two, but is otherwise uninjured.
Tory and Shadow (both male)are big enough not to get in that embarassing
situation. At any rate it's one for the books, and yet another consideration
when trying to maintain a ferret friendly home.
**********
Tory's Dream
Tory has just spent the better part of two hours exploring, dooking it out
with the younger Shadow, and backing himself defiantly into a forbidden
corner. He now wearily propels his five year old frame toward the welcoming
open door of his cage. After climbing inside, the tired ferret indulges in
a quick snack, imbibes in a long drink of fresh watter, and crawls between
the the soft folds of his coverlet. The familair fabric bulges and bubbles
for a few quick moments as he scratches an elusive itch, and seeks to find
his happy place. Finally, the material becomes still, and an audible sigh
emerges as Tory drifts to sleep.
After a gentle descent the the secret continent of dreams, wise old ferret
eyes begin to move perceptibly beneath closed lids. The muscles of his legs
begin to twitch in synch with an unseen gait. Tory is dreaming ...
The thick honeyed dawn has, just this moment, given way to the crisp,
crystalline time of early morning. The air is cool and rich with oxygen,
and the ground around the ferret's feet is damp with new-day condensaton.
Vital, viril, un-neutered, and with a full measure of musky ferret scent on
board, Tory and young Shadow face this glorious day with passionate purpose.
These moments will be lived to overflowing. Padding through the underbrush
unseen, silent, utterly undetectable, they move in deliberate cris-crossing
paths. They pause to push their noses through the soft, moist, early
morning earth. Tory lingers to sip dewy gems from the emerald vegetation
... his thirst is deliciously sated. A corner materializes to his right.
He not only uses it, but punctuates it with bold machismo.
As they crest the top of a small grassy knoll and peer down into the hollow
before them, an impossible sight causes them to freeze momentarily in their
tracks. A business (FAQ 1.3.4) of twenty or more lovely, young, nubile
females are cavorting with lusty abandon on a carpet of soft moss and tiny
wild flowers. Sables, Siamese, silver mits, chocolates, BMWs! The two
males stand transfixed as the feminine cornucopia undulates sensuously
before them. Male juices begin to flow, and images of past conquests fly
through their now supercharged brains.
Young Shadow is beside himself, literally, back arched, dancing
uncontrollably, hind end running into head.
"Quick. Quick! I can't live and stand it!", he dooks excitedly, "Let's run
down and get us one!"
"No." ,clucks the older ferret, calmly, never averting his eyes from the
serendipitous sight before them ...
"Let's *walk* down, and get 'em all."
Tory awakents suddenly and makes a mad rush to the litter box. Having
quickly relieved himself, he races back to the peaceful warmth of his
coverlet. Once inside, he rolls to his back, front legs outstretched ...
and falls asleep once more.
**********
And for the sake of political correctness ...
In another dream ... the business of females were, in fact, not undulating
sensuously, but rather dancing in joyous celebration of their gender ...
oblivious to physical diferences and orientations of every sort. The two
insensitive males were chased down and castigated harshly for their narrow,
chauvenistic attitudes. After many days of empathy therapy, Tory and Shadow
were subsequently neutered, descented, and tatoos placed in their ears as an
enduring mark of shame.
**********
Ummm-um-ummm!
Take care.
Doug, Sue, Penny - Lori, Tory, & Shadow
[Posted in FML issue 1522]
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