Hello, my little ferret.
 
I see the look in your eyes.  We had some foster ferrets here to be
babysat some time ago, and you hear me talking on the phone all the time
about fuzzy kids like yourself who don't have a home.  Did those baby-sat
ferrets talk to you, my fuzzy child?  Did they tell you about the two
ugliest words in the English language...words they heard over and over
again in their last few days with their family?  "We have to GET RID of
them."
 
Now your eyes are asking me a question as you follow me around the house,
sticking a little closer than usual, looking for a little more attention
than you normally ask for.  I know what you're wondering.  I know what
you're thinking.  "Will you ever GET RID of me?"
 
Well, my fuzzy boy, let me tell you a story...
 
When I was very young, I lived on a farm with my parents and siblings.
Not a large farm, but we had a horse named Chocolate and a goat named
Molly, and two cats named Crystal and Nimbus.  The farm was nestled into
the woods, and there were not many children nearby.  After school, on
weekends, and all summer long, our pets were companions and friends.
 
Molly was more dog than goat...without a leash or harness, she would
happily take long walks with us down the paths in the woods, kicking up
her heels and munching on flora as we went.  When Molly escaped her pen
(which was often), she didn't go far...only as far as the sandbox so that
she could stand and watch us play.  When we left for school, she bleated
farewell...when we arrived home, walking up the dirt and gravel driveway,
she was beside herself bleating hello.
 
Chocolate...well, if you've never had a horse as a friend, you might not
know the bond that can form between a human and the large, patient animal
with liquid brown, understanding eyes.  Chocolate was more than just a
beast of burden.  His soft whinny greeted us upon every return home, and
he waited for us to get home from school, his long ears perked and pointed
towards the road.  To ride him up and down the dirt road was to be part of
something powerful and timeless.
 
But then my parents decided they didn't want to be together anymore.  My
father left, and he was the one who had done the bulk of the work keeping
the corral clean, the fence intact, the barn spotless.  Chocolate grew
shaggy and unkempt.  We weren't allowed to open the gate by ourselves
anymore with Dad gone...so Molly didn't get to come out to play anymore.
I started to hear, in brief snatches of conversations, the two words I
would hate all my life.  "...GET RID..."
 
One day I got home from school to find Molly gone, and Chocolate standing
by the gate looking forlorn.  I was not upset; Molly often crawled under
the fence.  I called around to the neighbors; they hadn't seen a little
black-and-white goat trotting through their yards.  Alarmed, I called my
mother.  "Oh, honey, Molly didn't escape," she told me.  "It was time to
GET RID of her."
 
I knew what would happen to Chocolate.  The good horse who had been my
companion for two years.  The horse who had once started to bolt out of
his gate, but was stopped when my three-year-old sister grabbed his nose,
said, "Get back!" and obediently backed up into the corral.  The funny
old boy who had looked uninterested when my father placed his ice cream
cone on the fencepost to get fresh water in the trough.  When he came
back, Chocolate wore an innocent expression while he munched and ice
cream dripped out of the corners of his mouth.
 
I cried the day my father tied Chocolate outside the barn, then took us
for a ride.  When we returned, Chocolate was gone.  I wandered the empty
pasture until it got dark, crying, my father's words echoing in my head.
"I'm sorry, honey, but we had to GET RID of him."
 
I cried when the car drove away with our two cats.  Crystal had wandered
onto the farm one day and made it his home and us his family (yes, he was
a boy...we just liked the name Crystal).  Nimbus we had gotten as a
kitten.  Nimbus had survived being thrown into the pool by my youngest
sister who thought that kitty ought to go for a dip in the kiddie pool; my
dad had fished her out.  Crystal waited on the steps for his milk treat,
wound around our legs as we played, and slept in Chocolate's warm stall
every night.  But we couldn't take them to the small house we'd be renting
in another town.  "They have to go to another home," my mother had
explained.  "We have to GET RID of them."
 
So you see, my little ferret, more than eighteen years have passed since
that time, but that little girl made herself a solemn promise.  She
promised herself that one day there would be animals in her life
again...not just pets, but friends for life.  She promised herself that
she would never be one of those folks who thinks that a pet is a fad or
a wallpaper pattern that suddenly goes out of style.  The thought that
sustained her during those days of loss and longing for her friends was
the promise that one day there would be animal friends again, and they
would be in her life to stay.
 
And here you are, you and your five brothers and sisters who play and
dance and bring me joy, and sometimes get sick and need operations and
give me sleepless nights.  I wouldn't trade any of it in.  I wouldn't
give any of you up for anything.
 
Having you in my life and loving you has served to make me more aware than
ever of the pain and grief that animals feel when they lose their homes
and families.  Loving you and your ferret compatriots has changed my life
and made me someone who tries to educate others and make them understand
that their pets are more than window dressing or home accessories; they
are alive and aware.  They feel joy, pain, sorrow, grief, ecstasy, hunger,
and loneliness.  They are a responsibility not to be taken lightly.  And
they can change the very core of your being if you let yourself love them
completely.
 
No, my little ferret, your home will never be whisked away in confusion
and fear as you journey from home to home, never sure what the next one
will bring.  You are in my life until the day you leave not only me, but
the rest of this world as well.
 
And as long as I am alive to remember, my heart will never GET RID of you.
[Posted in FML issue 3730]