The most beautiful physical thing about Petals was her coat. It was thick and very, very white. Each strand seemed to glow from within. Individual hairs stood out clearly from each other and shimmered slightly as I stroked her head. Her fur looked opalescent in the light. When she first came to me as a youngster, Petal's coat was very different. It was short in many places, absent in others, a result of near starvation. This "adept predator" was found "hunting" for a handout in a neighbor's garage. She'd lost over one third of her body weight, and though she was an intact female, apparently couldn't sustain estrus on zero caloric intake. Petals did absolutely nothing for the next three days but eat and sleep. She had no personality, only an appetite and an overriding need for rest. Then she came into heat and I had her spayed. As her health improved, her spirit returned. She played with everybody, at every invitation, and with total abandon. Often, when no invitation was forthcoming, she played on her own. Her slightly twisted palate left her nose slanting to the right of her two pink eyes and gave her a comical look that I could never resist. She was always figuring things out after everyone else did, but like her twisted nose, I found this endearing. Over time her coat came back and flourished. I loved her, and we lived this way, for seven years. A few months ago, she developed a persistent cough and I had my veterinarian perform an ultrasound. The news was not good. The walls of her heart were thickened and her lungs we full of fluid. Lasix and Enacard were prescribed and did relieve her symptoms but nothing could be done to halt, or even slow, the progression of the disease and the deterioration of her heart. I took her back to my vet to have her put down on Monday, but she seemed to pick up and we decided to increase her dosage of these medicines. I was hoping that she would improve, or at least maintain the level of activity I saw at the vet's office Monday, but in retrospect, I think she was more excited about a new place than really feeling better. Higher dosages of her medicine did not help. Petals lost interest in eating and could only walk a few feet before she would collapse in total exhaustion, her sides heaving. I called to make her last appointment yesterday. I wanted so much to put her carrier in the front seat of my car, so I could see her during that last trip to the vet's office. But I couldn't put aside my fears of being pulled over for some thoughltless traffic violation. "Officer, this is my dying ferret, please don't take her." The horror of that possibility won out and I put her carrier in the back seat, under a blanket. I would not have anything get in the way of gently ending her pain. I stroked her beautiful coat as I held her and said good-bye. Hopefully the sound of my voice and my caresses eased any fears she might have had. My veterinarian kindly wrapped her in a box for me, and placed a beautiful sprig of Toyon berries on top. He asked me if I was O.K then told me to take her home, that nothing was owed him for his services: two unsolicited acts of kindness that will not be forgotten. Petals rode home with me last night on the front seat of my car. We buried her next to two other ferrets and the family dog. She'd spent 7 years as a fugitive in California, innocent of all of the charges against her. She'd never bitten anyone, never eaten a kangaroo rat, never harmed a soul. Nothing can harm her now. [FP] [Posted in FML issue 1768]