Post by Bree T on Feb 20, 2014 21:56:43 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Bree. I'm not even sure it's appropriate that i'm writing on this forum, i've never tried a raw diet with my ferrets, i've never even really reached out to anyone outside my household about life with ferrets. I'm also pending approval to be a member, and would have posted this on the appropriate board if I was able to, so I really hope using the guest board will reach as many people as if I were a member. I've been reading through all the different posts on here, and as always when reading about those lucky/crazy enough to surround themselves with ferrets, i've picked up on a strong sense of community and inclusion based on common experiences. Owning ferrets is like skydiving; it's not for everyone. You either love it or you don't, and it doesn't take long to figure out which category you fit into. It's also not something most people choose to love or hate, and are rarely forced to go from one side to the other. Unless of course, you are my partner. When we first met, I think he thought he struck gold. The girl of his dreams who actually adores him back. Touchdown. Then, he met my ferrets. Somewhat less enticing creatures in his eyes. But as people tend to do after enough exposure, he came around and even grew to absolutely love them. He plays with them even more than I do some days, appreciates their variant personalities, tolerates the poop and only once in a while lets it really, really frustrate him. What more could you ask for, really? Well, a lot actually. This morning I was woken up to my father-in-law banging on my front door and yelling my name. My partner and I live in a suite above an electrical company owned by his father, of whom my partner is also employed by. I was taking advantage of my one semi sleep-in day of the week, something I may not do again for a while, and when I heard the banging and shouting I jumped out of bed ready to be annoyed by the disturbance. Disturbed is a choice word here. I come around the corner and Nick's dad has my sweet little fur suit, Cooper, in his arms. He tells me he found him outside, puts him on the floor in front of me, and says one of the dogs downstairs got ahold of him. My heart stops. Immediately my head is flooded with questions that Dave probably can't really answer. How the heck did he get out? And when? What did the dog do to him? Did anybody see? I lie flat on my stomach and try to carefully assess what I'm dealing with here. Cooper is barely standing, and worse, barely breathing. He's awake but clearly suffering, and within 30 seconds I'm dressed with whatever clothes my hands touch first and i'm out the door driving like a bat out of h*ll to the nearest vet. I don't care which vet as long as its the closest one and I don't care who I urine off on the road. This is a full blown, five-alarm emergency. I get to the vet, completely lose all composure as I tell the receptionist that this is an emergency and I need help right now. She quickly takes Cooper to the back and returns to ask some basic questions, since this isn't the normal vet I take them to. Three minutes later i'm in a waiting room, literally spinning. Where am I? Seven minutes ago I was asleep in my bed, and now I'm waiting to see if my perfectly healthy ferret of only four years is going to come home alive with me today? Fifteen seconds later, I get my answer. A vet assistant opens a door, holding my limp little monkey in her arms, and the look on her face says all it needs to. My little man is gone. Just like that. The vet assistant keeps calling him 'her' while she offers her condolences, and the only thing I can squeak out through my sobbing is "him". My sweet boy has expired in the most horrific and premature fashion I could ever have imagined. I can't even breathe. She lays him down on the cold stainless steel table, and he looks alive. He looks like he did one minute ago when I was holding him. In pain, but alive. But he isn't alive. I stare at him like a hawk through my tears, pleading with my brain to see his side raise up then down again as he exhales, begging the powers that be to let him blink. My god, please just blink. But there's nothing. I'm witnessing the last of his living energy escape him like a deflating balloon, rapidly and without mercy, but he's long gone now. I look for somewhere to possibly vomit, then my horror and despair suddenly distracts me and I'm too frantic to even throw up. I'm looking at this empty little vessel on a table that i've come to love so bloody much, that I've come to always associate with warmth and movement and life, and I see none of those things. The truth is, and this may sound terrible, but I always sort of pictured one day giving both my ferrets to a shelter once they got fairly old. Not because I don't love them or want them or am not prepared to deal with any health problems that come up, but I guess I always pictured it being sort of a ferret Utopia. Being in a place with 20 other ferrets, surrounded by their own people, in an environment totally dedicated to their life style. I've always gone above and beyond for my boys, making each home we've lived in together theirs just as much as my own, and I would never give them up willy nilly, but I suppose I just pictured them living out their last days in a big ferret home, as if that would be a fantastic experience for them, almost the peak of living. Something they would want for themselves if they could choose, and only after much research was done. Anyway, the time to even consider something like that was nowhere near. Until now, at least. Now i'm staring Cooper, still not totally convinced he's not going to get up. Now, he is physically nothing more than a small pile of matter. My love and experiences with him are the only thing left to hang on to, although I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent a couple hours petting/cuddling his tiny self after he passed, not to mention cleaning him up. I can barely type this but his internal injuries caused his nose and even eyes to bleed *deep breath/tears*. I am one of those rather spoiled people that hasn't had to face death very much, and I'm also one of those people that cries at the very thought of an animal experiencing any pain, so when these two elements come together, that is simply it for me. That's as bad as it gets. I doubt anyone reading this feels any differently about such scenarios, and this whole wah-wah story isn't about gaining sympathy. I can't do much with sympathy. What i'm looking for, I guess, is just some information. An active conversation with those that actually know what I'm talking about. I realize i'm composing all this pretty fresh in the game, having only lost my critter about ten hours ago, but I can't grieve at the expense of my other, still very much alive ferret. He's a different breed. Some might call him a hellion, including myself. He's almost completely deaf, not at all cuddly or loving, at least not in the conventional sense like Cooper was, and even as far as ferrets go i'm pretty sure he's slightly handicapped. He's also fiercely independent and doesn't strike me as one to mourn like other ferrets do, although really that remains to be seen so I won't put too much stock into that conclusion right now. Time will tell. I say all this with actual love coming through my fingers as I type. I love him so, so, so very much, I know when he is showing affection towards me in the only ways he knows how. I can actually feel the love he has for me when I'm chasing him around my home and he chases me back. My relationship and feelings for him are so much different than my relationship and feelings are, or I guess were, for Cooper, and that is what made them both so special. They were yin and yang. Polar opposites and perfectly complementary. And that fact is killing me. What do I do now? How long until Zeppelin falls into a deep depression? Or will he at all? Cooper and him have been together since day one. They haven't ever been around other ferrets, which sounds surprising even to me but like I said i've never really reached out to others for support, and don't cross paths with a lot of people with ferrets. I'm confident he would be awesome with new ferrets, which sounds even more surprising given my lack of experience with exposing him to other fuzzies. He's met plenty of other animals in his time, always supervised of course, but even with Cooper he never drew blood or showed any signs of excessive aggression. He plays hard, but hey that's the ferret way. But I just can't see myself getting another one. Certainly not a baby. And would he even respond well to a new face in his home? Do I try to get involved in a local ferret play date? How do I even find one? Do I follow him around 24/7 looking for the signs that he's lonely? I let him spend a little time with Cooper's body before burying him, he did the sniff thing and the inspection thing, then walked away. He seemed to acknowledge the situation but it was business as usual quickly after. Should I look into rehoming him? Maybe get the ball rolling on that ferret commune idea? Despite all my questions I'm really not looking for definitive answers, I just want to have a conversation. Get a dialogue going, perhaps find a little direction. Also writing this has been a brief yet welcome break from the uncontrollable sadness and guilt I'm no doubt going to be experiencing for the foreseeable future. I can't say it enough, and I realize how completely futile it is to say, but I cannot believe this has happened. Every other second it hits me like a freight train and it's like i'm back in the waiting room hearing the news for the first time. The manner in which i've lost my friend, to know that my perfect and innocent little monkey died terrified and in unimaginable amounts of pain, AND I wasn't even the one holding him when he did actually pass...I can't. I cannot process it. I'm too guilty to eat. I still don't understand how he even got outside. I don't understand any of this. Please, just talk to me. I'll accept kind words and criticisms alike. Just somebody, say something.