It's been a few days since I could read the FML, because it's been a very
hard few days.  A ferret that had been adopted from us, Belle (I called her
Bella Bella), was killed in a stupid accident--the kind of thing that's
completely unforeseeable... could have happened to anyone.  Still, I loved
Belle--I wanted to keep her!--and it's hard to accept that she's gone.  She
was not-quite-six months old, and her brother Pepe survived her.  There are
two major things that keep haunting me: Belle running around with her
favorite toy, a butterfly-shaped crinkly cat toy, and the first time her
adoptive owner held her.  Belle climbed up Briana's shoulder and under the
bandanna she was wearing, popping her head out the front.  She was a blaze
with two smudges for a mask, which gave her a permanently questioning
look... Since she was basically being raised by Dennis and I and our three
older female fuzzies, she was turning into the best ferret imaginable.
Gods, I miss her.  We all do.  Skeeter, make sure she has a butterfly,
okay?  Her new owners had just bought her one when she died.
 
Then, a couple of nights later, someone found a ferret on the side of the
road.  They were going to keep it, but were incredibly ignorant and trying
to feed it hamster food.  Luckily, a neighbor saw the poor little guy and
happened to have my card.  She called and we went and got him.  That night
the little fella, who had been sighted outside as early as TWO MONTHS
before he was finally caught, got a bath and nail clipping and a nice soft
bed--but he refused to eat, wouldn't drink much, and his mouth was severely
ulcerated.  The vet (a great one, really knows her ferrets--and her people)
diagnosed him with severe kidney damage the next morning.  She said she
couldn't even feel a bladder or kidneys, and, since he wouldn't take
anything by mouth at all, she didn't think he had much chance.  We made the
decision to put him to sleep--and, as soon as we did, the glassy-eyed guy
we'd nicknamed Stranger got up and started nosing around.  Just to make it
harder, you know?  But the vet was right--there really wasn't much ferret
left.  Still, coming so close on the heels of losing Belle, it was really
hard to do.
 
Dr. Mulski reccommended that we not stay to see him put to sleep, because
of his advanced condition--she said that in a ferret that dehydrated, it
can be very difficult and distressing.  We took her advice, and she was
kind enough to tell us that he went very easily.  We don't know much about
Stranger, other than that he was a handsome chocolate fella and one hell
of a survivor to have hung on that long eating garbage and carrion.
 
I've spent a lot of time crying and surrounding myself with the other
ferrets, breathing in how alive they are, how vibrant and happy.  It's so
hard now to look at them and not cringe at the thought that I'll lose them
too.  Death at the end of a long life I can handle, although I grieve;
death suddenly.... let's just say my house has suddenly become as
ferret-proof as a house can be and I'm getting paranoid about every cough.
Amadeo has always bolted his food and then coughed half of it up from
swallowing it whole, and inhaled water when drinking from a bowl; now I
panic every time he hacks up half a piece of unchewed food or snorts
because his nose is full of water.  Gibber's always been tiny; now I'm
worried that she has some kind of health problem, or that her size (less
than 1.2 pounds) will make her more susceptible to illness.  Simon's
nickname is Mr. Clumsy because he's the master of war-dancing off beds and
into walls.  Now I'm terrified he'll hurt himself one of these days.  I
know eventually I'll be able to relax my vigilance again--at least to
tolerably comfortable levels--but right now things are just too hard.
 
My friend told me the other day that the bad part of having a big heart is
having it broken all the time.  And ferrets are the best at it.  How does a
two-pound animal take up so much room inside me?
 
I'm sorry for the length of this, but I really needed to talk with other
ferret owners about it.  With people who understand how much these critters
can mean.  My sympathy goes out to anyone else who's lost a little fuzzy
friend recently.  I wish there were a way to make losing them easier--but
if it was easy to lose them, it would be hard to love them...
 
Jen and the (Still) Crazy Business:
Dennis the Human Who Dispenses Treats (and scrapes poop)
Molly (Malay the Lazy One), who is still alive, miraculously
Gibber who likes to sleep in the tubes so no one else can play
Tesseract with the funny funny mask (it USED to be a V...)
Winter the vicious ear-groomer (not ours, Gibber's, generally)
Simon (Mr. Clumsy), who hasn't fallen off anything in FIFTEEN MINUTES
Amadeo, our beautiful golden little bloodsucking vampire
and the rescues, Saturday, Random, and Phantom (Mr. Slug)
 
All of us are remembering Belle and Stranger.
[Posted in FML issue 2726]