Little Thief
When I was pregnant with my daughter, my husband purchased a baby ferret that somehow got the name Ferrito. My little girl and this little ferret would become instant friends and a mutual affection would keep them bonded for his entire life. Once she was old enough to understand how to be gentle she would hold him and caress him; affectionately calling him her baby. The ferret in return would stay with her, hanging over her chubby forearm, allowing himself to be toted around like a ragdoll. People marveled at how this little animal could be so calm in the arms of a toddler. Sadly, time moves at a different pace for ferrets than it does for children. My daughter was merely growing into a bigger child but her ferret was growing old. He matured from a dark sable kit to an almost white senior. His antics of stealing her toys and biting toes were replaced with sedentary activities in which he was merely a prop. He would lounge in the stroller as she pushed him about or be dressed in old doll clothes. He’d happily tolerate her antics if it meant the two of them spending time together. She loved him wholeheartedly and accepted that he was no longer young and playful. At this stage, he was often being compared to Grandpa - too tired to run but more than happy to sit and just be in her company.
Perhaps the most amazing thing about this ferret was his loyalty. He was often allowed to free roam on the property during the day. He’d explore the woodpiles and stone walls but when called he would come. Often he would show up at the front door waiting for her to bring him in so they could be together. We noticed that his roaming radius was becoming smaller as he grew older. His body was slowing down until the autumn day when I found him, lifeless, in his cage. My little girl lost her “baby” and she was devastated. But being the nurturer, she was not going to allow her pain to keep her from caring for him. With tears in her eyes, she chose a spot in the flower garden to bury her friend. She dug the grave herself, gave her baby one last kiss, and lovingly placed the small limp body inside.
I did not offer to purchase a new ferret then because I know, just as any pet lover knows, you cannot replace one for the other. My little girl never asked. She mourned the loss of her tiny friend in the best way her 6-year-old self knew how – she painted a rock for his grave and drew pictures of him. But she never cried beyond the day we buried him. Then when my Dad died her wound reopened. She drew pictures of Grandpa and Ferrito together. She pulled out her stuffed animal bin and searched for the black-footed ferret. She slept with it every night and hid it away in her backpack during the day. She would spontaneously start crying – body shaking sobs – “I want Ferrito back”. I understand her pain.
My mind goes back to the day when I experienced the death of my sweet childhood ferret. She was an adorable sable named Britney and she died in my arms. I cried so hard that I ruptured blood vessels throughout my face. I bawled as I dug her grave. I wept as I went to bed that night. That is the unfairness of loving animals so much. Many of them do not have a long life span and we are left with aching hearts when theirs stop.
The only consolation I could give my little girl was the fact that she gave him the most amazing life a pet ferret could have. His basic needs were met but he also was given tremendous love and the freedom to reciprocate it. I told her that when she is ready she could get another ferret. It won’t replace the one she loved but it will allow her to give love and possibly form another bond. She decided that for her 7th birthday, a ferret would be the best gift of all. This week a baby ferret came home and a not-so-little 7-year-old girl put her heart back on her sleeve.
Mustela putorius furo is the scientific name for the domesticated form of the European polecat or ferret. It translates roughly to a smelly little thief. These mischievous little members of the weasel family love taking tiny things and hiding them away. Ferrito was the thief of all tiny toys and many of my daughter’s trinkets were expertly stowed away inside the couch and many of her outdoor toys were carried off and cached underneath the chicken coop. If something went missing we knew where to look. It was a constant source of entertainment. But most of all Ferrito stole our hearts. He wasn’t just a pet. He was part of our family. He was free to roam but he never strayed. The saying “if you love something set it free” comes to mind. He was the thief of my daughter’s heart. He captured it and made it his own. But, he gave as much as he took. There was no mistaking that he belonged to her and vice versa. The pair of them were inseparable. She would beg to allow him to sleep with her. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to run errands with us. So we compromised. We had campouts in the living room so he could have a sleepover and when we went to town she would hold him while in transit and then leave him in the car, safe in a carrier, while we shopped. And now she has the new baby ferret to steal her heart.
We all have those little thieves in our lives. The people and/or the animals who steal our hearts and even after experiencing pain or disappointment, we continue to give our hearts away. All it takes is looking at the object of our affection to make the wrong right again. Whether it’s the colicky newborn or the disrespectful teenager robbing a parent of a full night’s sleep; the only concern is the child’s well-being. Or the reverse when our love and concern for our ailing parent rob of us our sleep but we still muster the energy to be at their bedside. A partner with bad habits that destroy your peace of mind but you stay because your heart is invested. The dog that jumps up and steals the chicken off the counter as you’re cooking dinner and your concern for his safety is greater than your anger towards him for ruining your meal. The beloved pet whose health is so declined that you set aside your fear of loss to administer the last act of kindness. Love isn’t just the new baby smell, the comforting hug, or the furry snuggles. Sure those things might be what gets our hearts stolen in the first place but we continue giving because of the feeling we get when caring for another. Love is perseverance when things get hard. It’s setting aside ideals for what is real. Sadly, sometimes it’s also knowing when it’s time to say goodbye.
So this year for her 7th Birthday I did not merely gift my daughter a ferret but I gave her something far more valuable. I gave her the gift of love – an outlet for all the big feelings she has deep within her heart. And in gifting her love I get to watch her become a better version of herself over the next 7 to 10 years as her little baby grows old while she grows up. She will enjoy the antics and then she will comfort her ferret during the senior years. This experience will help her develop greater empathy; preparing her for the struggles of young adulthood. She doesn’t know it, but she continues to steal my heart as she faces new challenges through each stage of her life.
