She was a good little pet, a good little ferret. Updates may follow...

Heaven must have needed some entertainment.

She was a goofy little thing when we first got her: always ON - in your face or, more likely, attacking any available extremity, unless there was a purse or pocket that might contain small objects which could be carried off and hidden behind the television. During her early caged years, each time she was first let out to play she would erupt into spasmodic paroxysms of sheer joy, jumping with these rapid-fire, half-pirouette hops that often as not landed her on her back.

She had the run of the house for a few years, and the 'happy dance' would then take place periodically with seemingly little instigation save for the presence of someone - or two - suddenly paying attention to her. This was usually when we got home from work or finished dinner and retired to the living room.

The 'geriatric' stage with domestic ferrets comes on pretty early - some vets will label it as early as the fourth year. Daisy was no exception. By the time she was three she'd been in the hospital for one major round of surgery: tumor removed from the tip of her tail and both adrenal glands removed. We were lucky to find the absolute best ferret vet in the entire world happened to be 15 miles away. No exaggeration: Dr. Tom Kawasaki practices in Woodbridge, VA and he is right at the top of the field. If you have a ferret and you're in the DC area, 'Dr. K' is definitely the man to see.

Anyway, we thought she was going to be dead that time, but Dr. K worked a miracle to bring her back from the brink. After that, there were several other emergencies mainly due to the fact that ferrets can be particularly slow in appreciating the danger of human feet. At least, this ferret was. After a couple broken bones it was back in the cage with Daisy: Either she was going to be stymied in her quest for continuous adventure or she was going to be smashed on the kitchen floor.

From age 5 onward the routine was to let her out for as long as we could, to mosey around the house, get her daily portion of ferret treats, and possibly fraternize with other local creatures, although she did not fancy herself in the same league as the feline or canine varieties. In her youth she would occasionally lope right over on into the cats and freak them out, but when she was older the puppy could poke and sniff and shadow her and she never paid a hair's worth of attention.

She did not have much in the way of strength or vigor, but even to the very end she could always keep the puppy flummoxed. (This was just taken in October 2005).

We thought we had lost her a few times. Earlier in 2005 she had lost nearly all of her hair and we thought at age 7 maybe this was it. But lo and behold she rallied in the fall, and for a couple months she seemed to be at 100%. By this time '100%' meant she was awake for treats and a little investigating maybe 2 hours a day and sleeping soundly the other 22. The routine was to let her finish her treats under the puppy's watchful, wistful eyes (leftover ferret-crunch nuggets were valued VERY highly), and then let her curl up in a blanket on the couch for an hour or so before putting her back in the cage.

She was semi-affectionate early on, often because after playing she would weasel her way under the covers or into one's pillow case or under one's shirt and fall asleep. Then in the middle years she was much less amenable to prolonged contact. You could hold her for a few minutes but after that she squirmed her way loose. But the last few months she was often a veritable lap-ferret and would curl up on your lap or inside your bathrobe for as long as you would leave her there.

We left on a business trip last Wednesday morning, and apparently that night she was suddenly unable to walk. One of our daughters was home and basically nursed her and kept her company through Saturday night, and she died just minutes before we arrived back. If I was there I might have rushed her down to Dr. K, and she might have died with strangers poking her with needles or in some strange cage. Maybe I wouldn't have, I don't know, but I would have been very conflicted. So although I wish I was with her at the end it probably worked out for the best. Our daughter, wisely, did not tell us a thing about it until we got home. Daisy was on the carpet, wrapped in a towel, peaceful. Thank God she did not die alone.

Well, I guess that's the eulogy. Though Daisy had personality to spare, there's no denying a ferret is not as high up on the sentience scale as a dog. You aren't going to have many 'shared moments' of mutual understanding. The only times I looked into this ferret's eyes were during the early years when she was attempting to gnaw the tip of my nose...and all I saw was sheer ferocity.

But over 8 years a lot can change in one's life. If one is living - as I have been - within the straight-jacket environment and sparse diversions of the 'all work, all the time' lifestyle, day in and day out, year after year, the limited elements of one's narrow daily universe tend to stand out more distinctly in memory. 'How far we've come' in a relationship or as a family; 'how much I've progressed' in career or personal growth; how much has been changed or lost or won or regretted - the richness of these reflections hinges on the details we have to draw from: a car, a house, a loved one's smile, a tirade, a meal, a garden, a rainbow, a song, a hospital, a party, a photo, a fearsome storm, a spectacular landscape, a peaceful day and, in this case, also a ferret. The span of time she was with us brackets a period when so, so much happened with our family.

Goodbye Daisy. We'll always remember you.