Dear Ferret Folks- Well, there I was in a really bad situation. Down on my knees next to the tub in a sopping wet flannel night gown, a nuclear fallout of damp black dog fur raining down gently over every exposed surface. I was holding the Noble Allis Chompers in the tub partially by sheer willpower, but mostly by one hand on her collar. The arm that ran between my shoulder and that hand had a happy Ping is He balanced on it, his little face alight, holding his whiskers out at that eager position that means "Can I help? Can I help?" The dog, fearing that Ping was going to climb onto her soapy back had begun to vibrate in sheer horror. A low humming noise was coming from her, and I knew that she was about to lose it completely. I was not happy. No, far from it. Here was my dilemma. Did I grab Ping with my free hand, which was completely covered with foul smelling suds up to my elbow? He would no longer be using me as furniture, but then he would be loose in my house, trailing foul smelling suds in his wake. Once I had finished bathing Allis, I would then have to retrieve Ping, bathe him, the bathroom, and last of all myself, and that was if he had not done something unspeakable, such as try to dry himself by burrowing into the living room sofa. As in, smearing the living room sofa with the soapy essence of the malodorous horror that I had just scrubbed off of Allis with my free hand with an old washcloth. Or maybe he would roll on the carpet. Or my bedspread. Or all of the above. You get the idea. Ferrets...they do things like that. Things you really, really don't want them to do. Just then, Puma started sniffing the soft, unprotected underside of my foot. I went from Defcon Two to the highest level of emergency, Defcon Three, because I knew I was only moments away from one of Puma's amazing little love bites. Should I let go of Allis, allowing her to slop gallons of foul smelling sudsy water all over me and the bathroom, and wherever else in the house while she ran to hide? Ping would probably fall into the tub and have to be washed and Allis re-captured and re-washed, but Puma wouldn't perforate my foot. I, of course, would probably wind up washing every floor in the house. Should I simply throw caution to the wind and take the risk of blindly kicking Puma away from me? She might smack into something hard like the toilet and get badly hurt, and I would feel terrible. She would feel worse. NONE of these choices were good ones. So I took a real gamble. I blew a damp strand of hair out of my face and looked Ping is He, perched on the back of the arm pinning Allis to the tub. I looked him dead in the eye. It was not a look from the of top of the food chain to someone lower down on it. It was not a look of master to subordinate, sentient to animal. It was a look of one equal communicating a message to another. And the message was very simple. "For the love of God, DON'T HELP! NOT NOW!" I said the words out loud to him very softly, very calmly. Ping looked at me long and hard, and he seemed to deflate a little bit. His whiskers drooped, and then appeared to sag in disappointment. Clutching the damp fabric of my nightgown in his claws very carefully, he turned around. He gave me one more very short glance, then simply flowed up my arm and shoulder. He balanced carefully, then jumped the entire distance to the floor, and was gone. I would have to say that he took Puma with him, as I was not troubled by any more of those foot tickles. I washed Allis (who now smells good enough to be allowed back on the bed) and once again I am left wondering. How much do they *really* understand? When push comes to shove, how much do they really understand? Alexandra in MA [Posted in FML 5490]