Finding One’s Ferret
When I arrived at what I shall refer to as the ferret den, I was so overloaded with cuteness . . . “How can someone pick?”
I didn’t have to wonder which was the place. A midsize car with a ferret decal and novelty license plate declared the spot. Warm, friendly Dave from Scales and Tails Rescue emerged and led me through the towers of donated cages for an upcoming fundraiser.
When I arrived at what I shall refer to as the ferret den, I was so overloaded with cuteness. So many little curious faces of jills and hobbs perked up and sniffed in my direction. It felt like a ferret-oriented family casual-dining joint, where every square inch of open space had a ferret emblem, art print, or other knickknack.
“How can someone pick?”
As ferrets are social, and I live alone, I knew a bonded pair would be right. As Dave modeled sweet talk and kindness to the ferrets without any remark or conscientiousness about this second nature of his, he pulled ferret pair after ferret pair from their cages and introduced them to me telling me how they were such good boys and deserved all the treats and love in full baby-nese. He ran through all the care bullet points throughout, as none should be missed, even if someone says they have experience with caring for ferrets. No recliners, mind the dashboard, they used to say raisins but absolutely *no* raisins! Just some of many.
We played, they pooped. We cleaned up then found new reasons to coo.
On a very superficial level, I’ve spent 15 years of my life with silver mitts — with their curious glances cropping out of their white bib. White feet promptly proceeding on a patter to match each whim. Silver mitts turn white over time like distinguished elders.
Two recently surrendered youngins (6–7 months), a silver mitt and cinnamon, were unusually large and healthy — from European breeders. Seeing them was a sharp contrast to ferrets I’d seen in the past from a main American commercial breeder. The breeder in question has maximized health issues in their breeding choices. With weaker ferrets sold alongside a panoply of treats of questionable appropriateness for mustela furo, there are whispers among some ferret aficionados that this is an intentional strategy for ferret turnover. Make a short life shorter — larger market. So it goes. Several residents at the den came from a breeder under their oversight that had gone under, notable with their signature tattooed ears.
I held the two kits, “and who do we have here?” “Emma.” Each ferret name rung off the last syllable — carried away cuteness. Emma! Emma! I knew Ms. Woodhouse’s charm would face no trouble finding her a home and see through whatever matchmaking misadventures lay ahead. Full kit energy and a little nippy, perfect to teach kids about animal behavior and training.
I walked past cages of elderly ferrets (5 and up), some with the insulinoma or other tumors beginning to crop up — the main cause of death for ferrets. It can be a hard sight when you’ve lost a ferret or experienced long periods of care giving, but they reminded me dearly of my grayed senior ferrets in their final years — with lost hair and stumbles from the cancer, but more affectionate and loving on an upward scale over time and across hardship. Because they are at the rescue, they have access to surgeries and treatments at a discount, and with the focused attention that can be provided by a rescue, so I felt they were in good hands where they were.
Then he brought out the ones. Dave declared the marked white one was the charmer — loving human touch and seeking affection; giving kisses to any old gal. He had red eyes, which scare most. (“It’s simple. They’re haunted.”) The marked white ferret’s bonded buddy was a traditional sable, dark brown with a cartoon bandit mask across the eyes. Both were curious but gentle and slow as they explored the space — glancing back at me. At 2–3 years of age, they had spent a lot of time in cages. Having kept ferrets in a “free run” of the house in the past, it tugged my heartstrings to see their trepidation (as far as ferrets go, which compared with other pets, are truly daring in their exploration and wherewithal). Both handled well — they liked being picked up and held. Both had been trained not to bite. The little sable, confirmed clear, had a naked belly from a recent ultrasound to inspect a lump.
With aplomb, Dave trimmed the nails of my selected two, spritzing salmon oil on their bellies to distract them from the terror of clippers. He outfitted me with the latest edition of Ferrets for Dummies (the ferret bible, I am told), emphasizing that there were important updates, and explaining the copies of medical records and health advisories. (Still up in the air how ferrets will be treated for covid — as they are animals with similar respiratory systems to humans, they are ground zero for new drugs, so certainly have experienced all kinds of experimental remedies behind the pre-patent wall).
We spoke briefly of Dave’s past and what led him to run the rescue and I felt verklempt at the care this man has in his heart. He gave both big hugs and held them a little longer to say goodbye. As we parted, he reminded me that as long as he was there, it would be a no-questions-asked, at any time after, surrender policy . And if room and board for a long trip were an issue, they’d always have a home at the rescue. I would not let Dave know the new names in store for my new family members, but I let him know that his Willy (my grandfather’s name) and his Nilly (silly) would be simply adored.
https://medium.com/@lumpyplume/finding-ones-ferret-e851db64308b
