Smokey, Smoke, Smokin’ or Smokin’ Hot
Smokin came to us exactly 1 year and 7 months ago. I know that because her charge, BandyAnn, died exactly one year and seven months ago today. I wasn’t the only one who was devastated. One year and seven months ago I got a call from a local vet clinic that went the way so many calls for so many shelters go: “Hi, we have a ferret we’d like you to come and look at?” When I walked in the door I was handed a note that had been left with 2 ferrets. It read like many others, “please help us our owner can’t keep us, we will be 5 in October, our names are Bandit and Smokey.” This note went a step farther. It added the fact that Bandit was suppose to be on meds for insulinoma. No dosage info, nothing saying when she’d had medicine last, nothing useful at all. Long story short, both girls went home with me. Over the course of the next several months it became abundantly clear Smoke had spent, if not her whole life, at least the vast majority of it taking care of the very ill Bandy. She stood guard each time I needed to medicate the smaller, fragile BandyAnn and whoa unto me should I alarm her, startle her or even make her nervous. Smoke was going to bite me. Any other time we got along fine, just be careful how you treat Bandy. Not long after we lost our beloved BandyAnn, Lovey a little albino who’d welcomed the two of them into her group, became an insulin dependant diabetic. That meant insulin shots twice a day and a daily blood sugar test. Needless to say Lovey got a little needle shy. I’ll never forget the day I walked in, syringe in hand and found Smoke curled around Lovey in a hammock. I began rubbing Lovey’s neck to wake her up a little for her shot. Smoke opened one eye and glared at me. I missed the warning. I pulled up a tent of skin for Lovey’s shot and that was as far as I got. Smokin’ had me. “You no do that Momma. She no like it”. I let go of Lovey, laid the syringe down, and extricated my arm from Smoke’s teeth. There wasn’t a mark on me but the message was as clear as a bell anyway. Don’t. That’s the Smokin’ Hot Girl. Don’t. Don’t mess with my friends. The rest of the time she’s a carpet sharking, tunnel digging, rapid fire, lovin’ little girl. Just don’t mess with her friends. And that message is not just for me. I’ve been trying to incorporate two groups of two ferrets into one group of four for several weeks now. Smoke’s group consists of her and Ena, an older, slightly fragile, very blind, completely non-combative girl. One of the ferrets in the other group is our ‘don’t take prisoners’ matriarch. Smoke has put up with a lot of guff from her and turned and walked away, but you had to know that was all gonna come to an end. And it did. When the fight got taken to Smoke’s older, sicker, friend. Besides the screams for help, there was some toush kickin’ going on and one quick glance told me all I needed to know. Smoke said ‘don’t’ and some one with 4 legs and an attitude problem failed to listen. Glad I’m not the only dense one! Smokin’ doesn’t play with toys per se. I think she was too busy with Bandy to have time for it, but she does love ‘under’. She is a carpet shark to the max. She will start at one end of the hall under the carpet runners and travel the entire length under those rugs at full blast. Try going into the bathroom! Under the bath mat or any towels tossed there just for her and watch your toes! It’s just too much fun to ‘sneak’ up on you and grab them. She likes to run tubes even if she has to do it alone, or even better curl up with her friend Ena in one of the cloth ones. She also likes over sized sleep sacks so she can comfortably slip in beside Ena. There just no tellin’ when E may need her. Smoke is not a treat eater. She’ll willingly lap up Ferretone and not bother while we check her blood or trim her nails. “Don’t” has never applied to her, only to the friends she feels compelled to care for. |
||
|
||
|
Smokin' Hot has a Santa. |