Happy

There were 2 male DEW’s (Dark Eyed Whites) when I went to Ross’ house to meet you. I picked the other one up first, and then I picked you up. I just felt like I connected with you a bit better. I don’t know why; I couldn’t quantify it. So I took you home.

You were my first dark eyed white. I didn’t realise for ages that your eyes were actually a deep ruby red, appearing almost black except in the light. Before you had come albino ferrets Tabitha-the-original and Smokey and then Dolly-the-overdose-ferret. But I’d mostly had sable ferrets, starting with Endora, then Bandit, Rusty the climbing girl, Buster the wimp who loved to hide rubber duckies, and Giant Ferret, who turned out not to be as big as you, but was still bigger than all the ones I’d had before.

I named you Happy. You seemed such a cheerful ferret. I didn’t really understand at first that you wanted to be near me. You jumped over the barrier that had previously kept all the other ferrets at bay, so I started having to close the door instead. You used to try and get into the bath, but it was too tall. When I moved to Croydon Park, you necessitated a trip to Bunnings and the buying of a massive piece of melamine, much higher than my previous barrier. It was so tall that my legs could no longer easily get over it and I had to move it to get through.

Those first few months Rusty and Giant Ferret did not accept you. There was a lot of fighting. I had to take you to the vet, because you got bitten or scratched in the cheek and one side looked like a chipmunk. It was quite comical, but it was infected and needed an expensive vet intervention to make you better.

When we moved to Croydon Park, you used to sleep in the cage in my room. Every morning I would let you out and you would jump up on my bed. You wanted to see me rather than sniff the rest of the house like Poppy. You were the first ferret to voluntarily come and sleep with me, not just for a minute, but deliberately. You got made into a ferret meme with your funny sleeping pose! You clearly thought I was your number 1 human, and you soon became my number 1 ferret.

When I moved to my own flat, I had those old doors, that were just steel without any mesh. I’d tried various things but nothing worked. I would eventually have to buy new screen doors, but that first summer I just coped by keeping the doors shut when you were out. I was very worried about money and my new mortgage that first year. The doors could wait.

I went up to Tamworth to visit my cousins, and as usual left you and Buster and Giant Ferret with plenty of food. But I hadn’t been careful enough, I’d locked the back door in the open position going outside, but hadn’t realised before I left. When I got back, you and Buster were missing. Giant Ferret was too lazy to escape and I found him safe.

I was distraught. Buster was old and getting thin - it wasn’t going to be long til he had to go, and he was never an affectionate ferret, always nervous around humans, so I was sad when he never came back, but losing you? I was totally a mess. In God’s kindness, my friend Bec helped with posters and someone saw the advertisement. The happiest day of my life was seeing your little face in that rabbit cage in that garage. I had my darling beloved Happy back!! You liked humans, so you’d gone up to them, and they’d realised you were someone’s pet. They didn’t want any money, but I went to the florist and bought them a giant bunch of flowers. I couldn’t believe that somehow you’d crossed a main road and survived.

As soon as I got my tax return I bought pet-proof mesh screen doors.

After Giant Ferret died, I had you for 8 months solo. That was a good time, but eventually you started to get lonely - I was after all barely there, so I got you a new ferret friend Poppy to play with. You liked Poppy I guess, but you still loved me more.

I remember when you got really sick. I didn’t know what was wrong - you were so lethargic and just sat meekly in my arms or on the end of my bed. I took you to the vet. You were really ill. They said you might die. They suspected a blockage. I couldn’t think of what you’d eaten to make a blockage, but they treated you and eventually you pooped a piece of plastic - I had put the meat tray on the ground for you to drink the blood, but you’d mistaken the blood-soaked plastic for food. I never put the meat tray down again. It cost me a lot of money to get you better, with 3 days in ferret hospital, but as I visited you at the vet and you lay in my lap, totally at peace, I didn’t regret that money. I still don’t regret that money.

As you got older, you got more mellow. You didn’t climb to the top of the cage anymore, you were content to lie beside me, wherever I was. You didn’t leap to the kitchen counter if I wasn’t careful with the dining chairs. You were so trusted with other people. Unlike Poppy, you would never nip anyone. You’d play well and be gentle even with toddlers.

This year, you’ve been my constant companion, as I’ve gone from barely being here to being here nearly all the time, particularly in those first 3 months of serious illness. You followed me and slept at my feet when I lay on the couch, or next to the bed or in the cage when I was in my bed. You followed me into the shower and toilet, you followed me to the kitchen. I was your human, you were my ferret.

Almost 6 weeks ago, eventually realising something might be wrong because you had got thinner than you’d been before (you oscillated in weight between summer and winter, so I was expecting some weight loss) and I took you to the Summer Hill Vet. Your previous vet adventures had always been to Crows Nest, but in the middle of the recruitment month, still daily suffering with post-viral exhaustion and aching, I was half dead with exhaustion, and getting to Crows Nest was too far and I just kept crying at the seeming impossibility of driving there in peak hour. I heard there was a ferret vet at Summer Hill, so I took you there, even though the vet only worked there one day every 3 weeks. The vets promised to ring the specialist vet if they needed to.

In the exam, they tested your urine and were quite worried. They thought it might be contaminated with the table. So then they said, “We have to do some tests. We have to lightly anaesthetise him.” It was going to be another $500. I needed to know what was wrong, and if anything could be done. After this horror of a year, I didn’t want to be left in the dark. So I said: “Do the tests.” It's just money. What is money, when you have love?

I went back late that night, as they’d tried to call the wrong number to tell me you could be picked up. I saw this young vet, she wasn’t very nice, but she was all that was there by then. She told me your tiny kidneys were failing, that you had no hope, and she showed me how to inject you with the saline mix, and gave me some medication. I asked “How long”. She said a few weeks, maybe a month. She was seemingly astonished when I burst into tears. I cried all the way home, you beside me. I tried to inject you. It hurt and distressed you. It was hard to do solo. I stopped trying.

I tried to get you to eat. I held meat up to you, and encouraged you to chew it. I broke it into little pieces for you. But I could see you were getting thinner.

Every day since then I’ve come home expecting you might be dead. But you were always alive! You played every day, albeit briefly, until the last two days. You really started to stink, as your breath reflected the fact that your whole insides were dying. So on Thursday I knew. You seemed to have lost all fun in your life. Your tiny body was so thin, I could feel every bit of your spine, every rib, your hips, your little face was sunken and drawn. Your feet look too big for your frail frame. I reckon you weigh half as much as you did at healthy weight. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow maybe. It doesn’t really matter, does it!

It’s so typical that as I sit here crying, you are reacting to my crying. You crawled out of bed, and looked up to your human. “Are you ok human?”, you asked me. You can barely walk, you pee all the time, you are almost dead, yet you still want to comfort me, and be around me.

Dear Happy, I am your human, you are my ferret. Thank you for the past almost 5 years. It’s been a pleasure knowing you and loving you. I hope you romp in heaven and are full of life and love again. xxxooo I will miss you a lot. There will never be another Happy-the-best-ferret-that-ever-was.