A little more than 3 weeks ago, there was a plea from the local ferret
shelter in the hopes that someone could pick up and foster a kid that was
at an SPCA about 45 minutes away from me.  My brother and I went to pick
up this little bundle, who was supposedly a "he" but in fact turned out
to be a "she", which I learned a day or two later.  This SPCA was
apparently thinking about euthanizing her because her biting was so bad.
So once I got there, after 20 minutes of pacing back and forth, I was
finally brought to the back where they had her.  There she was, under a
towel, no food or water bowls to be seen, in what I can only describe as
an incubator looking thing - no bigger than 2 ft x 2 ft (and I think
that's being generous).  In my head I'm telling myself - Ok Suzanne, bite
your tongue.  You're here on behalf of the shelter - don't make them
think ferret people are crazy.  Don't freak out at them for being yet
another group of supposed "animal" people who know squat about ferrets.
Don't freak out and demand to know who's been overseeing this kid's care,
and how this person should be fired.  Share this with the shelter and let
them decide how they want to deal with it.  So I reached in to uncover
this little bundle and picked her up.  Yup, she chomped on me, but it
really wasn't too bad.  No big deal.  She's been surrounded by cats and
dogs all week and even worse, stuck in this shoebox.  It would make a pet
rock figure out a way to retaliate.  She was most definitely adrenal as
well.  Ignoramuses, was all that went through my head.  Unbelievably
obtuse, pitiful people.  So I gently placed her in the carrier, and as
we were walking away I assured this person that ferrets didn't normally
bite like her (or him as far as they were concerned).  "Oh", she says,
"good to know."  Huh?  You mean, you didn't already?  Back to the
ignoramus-o-meter in my head.  Keep smiling until you get out of here
Suzanne, you can do it.  Grind your teeth, just grind for a few..more..
steps.  Whew!  We're outta here!
 
All the while driving home, I'm trying to figure out where I'll put her.
Sneakers already wants to kill Charlie.  The living and bedroom are
already sectioned off.  Hmm...Ok, I can let her out in the bathroom at
first and put up a piece of plexiglass to keep her in there till I figure
out where she can stay.
 
Get home, put the carrier on the bathroom floor and open the door.  She
slowly, very slowly comes out and starts sniffing around.  Funny how she
looks so much like Peanut, my first ferret.  Eyeliner around the eyes,
but her face is so incredibly sad looking.  All the while, she's getting
closer to my socked feet and suddenly I feel nervous.  Pick her up and
give her some assurance, I tell myself.  So I pick her up and
chomp-chomp-chomp-chomp.  Repeatedly.  She finally just latched on and
stopped the actual chomping.  Of course, it took everything in me to
stifle the automatic "ooooooooooowwwwwwww!!!!!!!!" response.  I somehow
(can't remember) managed to unlatch her from my hand and put her back
down on the floor.  Uh-oh, she's looking at my feet again.  So I jump
over the barrier and put on my runners.  Go back in and right away -
after the feet.  Hmm..this is not good.  What's going on with this kid?
Definitely a fear biter and was most likely abused.  She's terrified of
hands and feet.  Go back out to the kitchen to get some water and kibble,
and set them both down on the bathroom floor.  In horror, I stood there
watching her use her lower jaw as a shovel to get as much kibble as
possible in it, only to run and "hide" it in the carrier.  She never ate
any, just had to "hide" it in case there was no food again.  Standing
there, in complete bewilderment, I wonder.  I wonder what the heck
happened to this kid.  I wondered how I was going to be able to help
her.  I even wondered if I could.  A challenge, I thought.  I like a good
challenge.  So I went out and bought some gloves..
 
Moving forward a few days, she started to eat my turkey gravy.  I had
removed one of the doors to my bedroom closet and replaced it with a
piece of plexiglass.  A good space for a kid that was probably never let
out of her cage, 12 ft x 6 ft.  It was the best I could do for now.
We've got time and soon she'll be able to stay out of there for good.
She was let out for an hour in the morning, and pretty much as long as
she liked when I got home from work.  About 4 days later, she got sick
and stopped eating.  Green, slimy poops.  Uh-oh.  The forced-feedings and
pepto started.  There was no more chomping sessions, just a very sad and
helpless looking face.  A few days off work and some heavy duty TLC and
she was back!  Yeeeessssss!!!  All that time holding her paid off.  She
stopped chasing my feet to "kill" them, and instead went after them like
a ferret should.
 
I can remember how my heart almost exploded with joy the first time I
heard her soft little dook.  Such a little lady this one will soon be.
I called my best friend so that she could hear Miss Jolly hiss when I
wouldn't let go of her ball.  See?  She's coming around.  She's being
a ferret - probably for the first time in her life.  Stashing balls,
chasing my hand under the blankets, playing in plastic shopping bags,
tipping the water bowl, jumping in the air to "catch the towel", running
up and down ramps, jumping around in the corn starch peanuts.  Ahhh, I
think to myself.  Life is good.  She's eating 40-50 cc's of gravy twice
a day, and seems to finally be happy.
 
Thursday morning I wake up to a message from one of the most incredible
people I know, saying she lost a ferret she took in 3 weeks ago - to
the day.  Grrrr.why does this keep happening to these little ones?  She
worked so hard to help this kid, then BAM!!  Sigh..thankfully my gang
is doing well.  Get home Thursday night and Jolly doesn't want to eat.
Huh?  What's going on here?  Look in the closet - uh-oh, she just
vomited.  Panic mode sets in.  But she ate just fine this morning!!  Is
it a relapse of what she just recovered from?  Get the pepto..  Tossed
it back up.  Try again in an hour - good, she kept it down.  Do it again
in 2 hours and follow up with some food.  Ack, ack!!  Noooooo, she says.
She still kept the pepto and 1 cc of gravy down.  I had a bad feeling
this time.  Really bad.  Called the shelter, told them she's not well.
She's really not well.  Vet's closing in an hour and there wasn't enough
time for the volunteer to get here to pick her up and take her there (I
don't drive).  Will be here 7:30 Friday morning to take her in.  Jolly is
wobbling instead of walking now, and pooping on the floor cuz she just
can't make it to the litter box.  Hang in there, Miss Jolly.  You can do
it.  Hang in.  Held her in my arms and she slowly wedged her face in the
crook of my arm.  Oh no.  This is not good.  Woke up at 1am for more
pepto.  Miss Jolly was no longer Jolly - at all.  Oh god, hang in there
kid.  You're strong.  I know you can do it.  Please God, please have
mercy on this kid.  She's been through enough and she's finally happy
here.  Please help her recover from whatever this is.  Please don't let
this be "it" for her.  Woke up at 4 am and Miss Jolly is in pain.  She's
weak, can barely walk and obviously uncomfortable.  We're almost there
Miss Jolly.  You're going to the doctor who will make you feel better.
7:30 comes, and Miss Jolly isn't caring about anything anymore.  Not even
when the shelter person took her out of the carrier with her bare hands.
The tears come.  No Miss Jolly, this can't be your time.  I love you kid.
I love you and you need to come home.  Damnit - NO!!  THIS CAN'T BE IT.
There's still so much to do together, so much for her to see, so much for
her to LIVE.  She HAS to come home.  About and hour later, I get a call
at work letting me know she was on IV with antibiotics and also given
pain meds.  She seems to be responding.  Whew..  Thank god.  Thank "god"
for listening to my pleas.  I don't know, about 20 minutes later the
phone rings.  "Suzanne?" voice cracked and weak.  Oh no.  God no.  Don't
say it.  "Oh no.  No." "I'm soooo sorry Suzanne, I just got the call.
She's gone." A necropsy was done and it turns out the vet found at least
12 nodules on her liver.  Cancer?  Even in her last moments, she just had
to suffer according to "God".  No passing quietly and gently in her
sleep.  No.  Not for Miss Jolly.  She hadn't been through enough.  She
just had to get one last kick in the..
 
So why am I posting about little Miss Jolly and her sad, sad story?
I want her to know that even those who were never blessed with her
presence, who were never fortunate enough to have seen her incredibly
sweet, sad face, share my agony of losing her.  I know there are those of
you out there who will feel the pain for her and wish she had more time,
and feel the anger over how this could have happened to her, like I do.
3 weeks, less a day, is all this little girl knew of happiness.  I want
her to know how special she was and how my heart aches for her.  I'm not
posting looking for sympathy or condolences from anyone, as there are
absolutely no words to ease the pain for me.  I'm posting so that people
stop and think about her, and hopefully she will either see or feel the
emotions her story has aroused.  She deserves it.  There's a lot more to
her story, but I tried to keep it as short as I could.  I know, I did a
lousy job.
 
Life makes it so easy for us to forget that these little ones are here
for a very short time.  Some, like Jolly, are far shorter than others.
They are not immortal.  The day will come eventually, for all of them.
Miss Jolly's came far too soon.  She reminded me of this very harsh,
cruel reality.  If given the chance, I would do it all again for her -
in a heartbeat.  If there is something else once this life has ended, I
hope she's now with Peanut and Tootsie.  They will both reassure her that
she was indeed very much loved and will now be greatly missed.  And that
not all humans are the devil in disguise..
[Posted in FML issue 4970]