Dear Ferret Folks-

Every now and then I have a particular visitor. I think she is still
five, but will be six soon. Her name is Harmony, and she is the
grand-daughter of my neighbour at the end of the road. She actually
lives in another town, but spends a lot of time here with her older
sister, Brianna. Brianna is seven.They are very attractive little girls
with carrot-red hair and not an ounce of reticence between them. They
show up in my driveway astride little pink bicycles (Hannah Montana?)
with chunky pink tires.

Don't think they come to visit *me*. Nope. Harmony comes over more
often than her sister, but whether together or singly the routine is
the same. Is it maybe time to feed the chickens? Sure, what the heck. I
usually have a few stale tortillas or some popcorn or bread heels. The
chickens appreciate it. Often there is a request to see the ferrets.
Sometimes I say yes, sometimes I don't. It depends on what I'm up to at
that given moment. But usually I will bring Todd out. He is very gentle
to little red haired girls. Caff-Pow, at four months, can be wild
sometimes. He stays in the cage for these visits. The little girls
admire him, but cannot yet hold him. The girls are a little wild, too.
They all have some growing to do first.

Well, the other day I was sound asleep on the sofa. There was a knock
on the front screen door.

"Hello?"
"Hello?"

I sat up blearily. It was Harmony. And instead of her sister Brianna,
she had a *different* little red haired girl in tow. One I had never
seen before. Harmony waved energetically and enthused "We came to see
your hyena!"

I thought "heyena?", but what I think I said was "huh?" As in hyena?
WHAT hyena? And I realized that as usual, Harmony could not remember
the word "ferret" and had made her own substitution. I was kind. I did
not laugh in her face, although the temptation was strong. Very strong.
As in, "laugh like a hyena."

I invited the little girls in (I never did catch the name of the other
one) and brought Todd out for a visit complete with patting and
holding. Then, the lesson began. I insisted, absolutely insisted that
the little girls accompany me to the computer room where I fired up
my PC and sought out the Google search box. I typed in "hyena", then
clicked "image." By then Harmony was anxious to go outside and harass
the chickens, but I was adamant. She was going to see what a hyena
looked like. It wasn't open to negotiation. Why? Because I wanted to
make my little contribution to the education of today's youth?

No.

Because I was going to be *amned if the rumor started going around that
"Danny Colburn's wife, the one with all the animals on Third Street?
She has a hyena now." I imagined getting a knock on the door from
the town of Templeton Animal Control Officer. "Mrs. Colburn? Your
neighbours have raised some concerns about your hyena. Did you realize
that we have ordinances against large carnivorous predators in
Templeton?" Blah blah blah, etc. etc. etc. This is a small town. You
know how the most preposterous rumors are nurtured in small towns, how
they undergo the most explosive growth in no time at all. All it would
take was Harmony happily telling her grandparents how much fun it was
to pat the hyena.

Harmony and her mysterious companion were suitably impressed by the
hyena pictures. And I reiterated--I did *not* have any hyenas. I
had *ferrets*. Ferrets. Nice little fuzzy ferrets. Not shambling,
wolf-sized spotted hyenas that cackle in the darkness and steal dead
wildebeests from pissed off lions. F-E-R-R-E-T-S.

Regardless, I am still half expecting to go to the annual neighbourhood
picnic in a few weeks and hear "so...what do you *feed* that thing,
Purina Hyena?"

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 6386]