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Can
you love a ferret?
By Dean D. Manning. From: " Off the
Paw",
Jan./Feb. 1992
I
stole this title from an essay written by an Australian colleague
and published in a newsletter not unlike this one. The content is
totally different, of course, but the question intrigues me. And I
must say the range of answers it evokes surprises me somewhat. For
a remarkably large number of people- including some who consider
themselves “ferret fanciers” - the answer is flatly “no.”
Included in this group is an acquaintance who once told me that
“Anyone who talks to an animal is sick!” For him, professing
love for any animal was absurd; this loftiest of emotions was, and
should be, reserved exclusively for other people. Respect and even
admiration for animals was permissible. But love? Never. His was a
genuine conviction.
I can’t say I share
it. To my mind, the question is less one of “whether” than “why.”
Think about it for a minute. Ferrets lack that utter, submissive
devotion that earns the dog the title of “man’s best friend.”
They lack the elegant dignity and people-manipulating talents of
the cat. They’re no good for hauling us around, herding our
livestock or guarding our homes. Most of them aren’t even much
good at catching mice. They are pretty good at transporting
things-like pipes and slippers-but “fetch” isn’t necessarily
the operative word. What we have in the ferret is a supremely
well-adjusted little creature that’s content to hop around in it’s
own happy little world, interacting with us only at the periphery.
On the surface of it,
that isn’t much to love. So how do these wooly little clowns
manage to captivate those of us who cherish them? Good question. I
think a lot of the answer lies in the way ferrets can make you
feel. For a lot of us, there’s something magic about the sight
of a cavorting, chuckling ferret tumbling across the floor,
something that brightens your whole outlook on life. Face
it-ferrets mess with your mind. I figure the only people that
might have just cause to resent that fact are psychiatrists. It’s
a clear case of unfair competition; ferret therapy is a lot less
expensive than conventional psychotherapy. To say nothing of being
more fun.
But there’s more to
the enchantment potential of a ferret than high energy and a
boundless capacity for fun. These little beasts exhibit a
peculiarly high level of trust. Even among those that haven’t
had such great experiences with people or life in general, ferrets
seem to think everyone is their friend and every situation is an
opportunity for play. That trust can make them look fearless, or
plain stupid, depending upon how you look at it. It can also be
sort of a mixed blessing.
Anyone who has ever had
to make that final decision regarding the life of a trusting pet
knows what I mean. I recently had to part with one of the dearest
little ferrets I every knew. His insulinomas and adrenal tumors
finally grew beyond our ability to help, and they slowly robbed
him of his quality of life. In the end I could respond to the
trust he placed in me in only one way. To say it wasn’t easy is
a grotesque understatement.
I’ve never much been
one to anthromorphize pets. There is genuine solace to be found in
their limited capacity for reason and comprehension. I’m sure my
little friend had no idea why my hands were shaking as he lay
there cradled in my lap. And as he slipped quietly away beneath
that anesthetic cloud, I doubt that he could have understood the
salty drops falling on his fur. I think many of you can. So you
tell me: Can you love a ferret?
In
sympathy for anyone who has ever laid to rest a beloved pet.
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