Well, we've been experiencing the heat wave this week like much of the
rest of the country has been enduring.  We are just now feeling it's full
effects.  My fish are sweating.  My snakes are happily roasting.  My
birds are trying to swim with the fish.  And my ferrets?  Siiiiiiigh,
my ferrets ... must we go there?
 
Sean came out of the ferret room yesterday dangling a ferret out in front
of himself.  He was holding the baby as far away from himself as he
possibly could at a full arm's length.  He acted as if he weren't holding
a ferret, but as if he was holding the day's stinky trash.  The animal
was limp as it hung by the scruff.  Wait a minute ... the scruff?  Sean
never scruffs ferrets.  So I asked him, "What's going on with poor old
GizzieGoo?  What are you doing to that poor baby, Sean?" With his nose
turned up, he approached me and said, "It's not Gizzie." I took a second
look and indeed it wasn't.  It was baby Pharos, the white .... er yellow
wonder?  And he was mysteriously wet.  Hmmm.  Wet ... yellow, wet ...
yellow.  Still drawing a blank, I got annoyed at Sean and demanded that
he stop what he was doing and hold the poor thing right.  "I can't mom!
Don't you know?!" No, I didn't know.  But I surely found out after the
odor nearly knocked me over as he drew near.  Baby Pharos decided to take
a roll in some pee on the floor.  I don't know why.  I try to tell myself
that this was a brilliant thing for baby Pharos to do because of the heat
wave.  Yes, that's it.  He was trying to cool himself off, clever animal
that he is.  You must realize how incredibly "hot" it is down there in
the air conditioned ferret room at a steaming 65-68 degrees.  These
aren't tropical animals after all.
 
After bathing Pharos, I was all set to put the all of ferrets down for
the night and to start on some dinner.  I wanted to settle down and turn
on the TV to see if Dilana rocked the house yet once again and if Ryan
was still acting like a &*$& on Supernova.  But I didn't get that far.
When I stepped into the room to put baby Pharos up, I found Blacky at my
feet looking up at me surrounded by paw prints.  Yet, again.  Blacky the
Poop, was eager to show off his latest masterpiece.  I wanted to drop to
my knees and shout, "no, no, no" to the sky, not to copy one of the rock
star's finale to a song, but to vent my frustration at Blacky who loves
to finger paint in poo.  Surely the ferret God's will hear me if I put
on a show good enough to bring Dave Nivarro to tears and make Tommy Lee
quit coke.  I thought God's are supposed to be merciful.  Yet, Blacky is
several years old.  I was told that kits "do this sort of thing and that
he'd probably outgrow it." Now I look darkly at baby Pharos.  Will he be
baby Pharos no more and still need bleaching tips from Phyllis Diller?
 
I'm so ... sniff ... proud.
 
Wolfy
[Posted in FML issue 5309]