20 posts tagged “ferrets”
I give you all Vin Vicious:
Actually, that's just a mid-weasel-war-dance moment of perfect timing. Anyone who has ferrets knows how hard it is to get candid photos of their speedy little selves.
After I took this shot, Lee played around with it a little in photo editing so the sign could be seen better:
A friend sent me this: Click on the link and scroll down to the article on black-footed ferrets. The webcam lets you watch a momma ferret who just gave birth on Friday. So far, I haven't seen her do much more than sleep (it is cute to watch her flip over and adjust herself into a weasel ball though) and I haven't caught sight of the babies yet, but I'm determined to see them!
Between Vinnie and Sylvie (Lee decided her name should be spelled with a "W," and I'm OK with that), our house is full of intrepid explorers. Nothing is sacred. My underwear could end up anyplace.
When you are faced with all that furball energy and curiousity, the only thing to do is to try to use it to your advantage. The ferret owners of the old days used to use them to catch mice and rats. They'd carry them around in their pants legs and peddle their services at nearby farms. They were the first exterminators.
Me, I'm far too squeamish to market Vin's services as a mouser. But a weasel has to earn his keep. So I decided to put his "ferreting" skills to the test and send him on Mission Impossible: Figure out where all the damn socks go and why they never make it out of the laundry in pairs.
He gave it his best shot, really:
Anybody in there?
But eventually, we had to concede that even Vin Weasel, Ace Detective, was no match for the ever-elusive Sock Thief.
Better luck next time, Vin.
Editor's Note: The above is pure fiction. Sure, Vin explored the dryer. But he didn't give a weasel's butt about my missing socks. In fact, if he'd found them, he probably would have just hidden them better, because that's what weasels do. His real job is simply to be cute.
Happy Weekending!
Although I didn't have a ferret of my own until my mid-20's, I caught ferret fever when I was just a kid. I would spend a few weeks each summer with my great-grandmother in West Virginia, and her neighbors had two of them.
The first time I saw a ferret, the neighbor lady was walking him up my grandma's driveway on a harness leash. The ferret trotted along almost like a puppy, stopping to weasel war dance now and then on the way. I fell in love. So when I was all grown up and had weasels of my very own, of course I wanted to try the leash thing. I think that over the years I attempted to walk three or four different weasels. The result always went something like this:
- weasel looks at me like I'm insane.
- weasel won't move other than to try to wiggle out of the harness
- weasel eventually gets sick of wiggling, rolls over and flops with his belly in the air, playing dead until I give up and remove the offending harness.
So I gave up, thinking there was something wrong with my weasel skills. After all, every now and then I'd see a couple walking their ferret across the campus where I work. THAT weasel bounced along quite happily, so it must be me.
Then my most recent next-door neighbors moved in, the ones who currently have six ferrets. They've been weasel people for decades, and admitted without shame that they've never been successful in taking a ferret for a stroll. Like mine, their ferrets prefer playing dead. And taking a weasel for a drag just isn't the point of the exercise.
So I still couldn't walk a weasel, but I felt a little better.
Flash forward to now. After the loss of Ginny and Cleo, Lee and I decided that we aren't getting any more ferrets for a while. It's the right decision, but it leaves the Vinster without in-house weasely companionship. He can visit with the neighbor's ferrets, but we still feel like we have to do more than ever to keep him entertained and content. So we bought a leash and decided to try the whole weasel-walking thing again.
Our first attempt was Wednesday night. I got the harness on Vin with minimal struggle and took him out into the yard. Lee was already there talking to the neighbors, who cracked up at mine and The Vinster's arrival. When I put him down, they leaned over the fence and began to count.
"One ... Two ... Three ... over onto his back he goes!"
But he didn't. He bounced and clucked and weazed all over the front yard.
I can't say I was "walking" him, exactly. It was more like I was following him as he bounded about. If I had tried to get him to go in any particular direction, I think we may have gone into "flop" mode. But he moved. And he got to explore the yard, something he'd never get to do without a leash. Unlike other pets, ferrets aren't smart enough to come home. And they're too fast to guarantee that you'll be able to catch them if they roam free.
I haven't seen the Vinster so animated and happy in a while. So we'll stick with this, even if we never get to the point of actually "walking him." It makes him happy.
And I finally have a ferret who doesn't play dead on a leash.
For my first "Me and My Monday" post, here's
"Me and My Weasels."
This was one of the pictures that came of me and Lee trying to pose Vinnie and Cleo together to show the difference in their sizes. But weasels, while the cutest things ever, are really hard to photograph. They squirm and wiggle and weaz, because that's what they do. So this one ended up having Cleo curled under Vinnie and me looking like I was trying to hide my face behind his. I kinda like the effect.
Anyway ... happy Monday. (I always have a hard time not choking on those words. I wonder if I'll ever grow up enough not to have issues with the whole work thing?)
We knew it was only a matter of time, right?
Lee and I decided this weekend that it was time for The Vinster to have a new friend and playmate. Ferrets are social critters, and even though he's got a ton of weaselfriends next door that's just not the same as having someone to curl up with at night.
So, now, Vin's got a little sister. Meet Cleo:
She's a tiny baby weasel. You can see how small she is in this next picture, with The Vinster:
Obviously, Vin wasn't into getting his picture taken at that moment. He's excited about his new roomie one minute, and a little confused the next. Overall it has been a really smooth transition. I've had cases where a dominant ferret wanted nothing to do with a newcomer, or wanted to kick his or her butt for a while before things settled down and they became buddies. I've had to keep ferrets separate for a while during their integration period. That's won't be the case with Vin and Cleo. Since he's a grown boy and she's just a baby, he's taken on a tolerant big brotherly role. And he's clucking and dooking (those are happy weasel noises, for those who don't know) all over the house.
As for Cleo, she's just the sweetest thing. At the pet store, I told Lee to pick which baby ferret he wanted, since he's never actually gotten one before - Vin and Gin were an already-here package deal who came with me. But I was hoping he'd pick her, and he did. She's very loving and cuddly, but playful too. And she's going to be an ankle biter, for sure. Here's Lee and Cleo together.
And don't worry. We're making sure The Vinster knows he's still the Big Boy Weaz of the house and has lots and lots of love:
My neighbors have six ferrets. As you might guess by my blog name, my email address and my general insanity, I used to be a sixweaseler myself. So going over there always brings back happy memories. Lee and I took Vin over on Saturday, and we people-types hung out and had breakfast while the weasel types did more weasely things, like sniff each other's butts:
That's Vin getting the once-over from his new friends. Hey, he's going to be living with this crew for several days while we're in Vegas, so we might as well get the inevitable overwith.
Some of you know that I go by sixweasels because a long time ago, I had six weasels. Not exactly original, maybe, but it fit.
Anyway, my neighbors are ferret lovers too. They already had four, and recently brought home two little baby girls. So this afternoon, I took Vinnie over to see the new weaslets and we hung out for a bit. Vin was in heaven, bouncing around and playing with all the other ferrets. I really need to start taking him over there and letting him out hang out with his own kind a bit more. They've got a big, chubby boy who is about Vin's age, and the two of them were flying through the house war dancing and pouncing and dooking, just as happy as can be.
I really wish I'd had the camera with me, but Lee had it with him at work today. I'm going to have to make a point to bring it over there. A houseful of weasels is a sight to see.
Pam's Note: In most of the blogging world, I'm pretty sure Golf Widow needs no introduction from me.
But since she doesn't write on Vox, I'll just tell you all she's a friend of many years.
If you're wondering why she's guest blogging, visit her at
Golfwidow's Ministry of Silly Walks . You won't be sorry you did.
The Trouble With Weasels
By Golf Widow So I'm writing guest posts like it's my job. Oh, wait. I guess it is.It doesn't pay as well as my old job did, but I feel like less of a"budgetary constraint."
Of all the guest posts I've been writing, this is the one I've been dreading. Really.
I feel like Charlie Brill and Mitzi McCall.
Perhaps you've never heard of Charlie Brill and Mitzi McCall.
They are one of the most adorably funny married comedy duos in the world, and they were on Ed Sullivan ...
... the act that went on right after the Beatles' first American television performance.
There you go, then.
Pam was old skool Diaryland by the time I joined up myself in late 2000. The now-defunct blogger-formerly-known-as-Tattodnanny, my fairy blogmother, introduced me to the diary with the motto
"Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines" and I was instantly
hooked.I already knew what ferrets were. I had heard Hawkeye Pierce call Frank Burns "ferret face" when I was a
tiny kid watching M*A*S*H, and I had looked them up in the encyclopedia.
They did have a sort of weaselish appearance.Later, I met a kid in junior high school who had one for a pet. He used to walk him on a leash, and people would come up to him and say, "Why you got a weasel
on a leash?"
He'd say, "It's a ferret," and they'd say, "Bullshit. Parrots are birds."
My mother worked with a lady who had been proposed to by a ferret. Her fiance had attached a ring to one, which she then had to accept as a pet if she wanted the ring.
If I remember correctly, the proposal was the high
point of the relationship, with the man ultimately proving a bigger weasel
than the ring-bearer had been.
I never knew another person with a pet ferret, to speak of, till I started reading the diary of a woman who
had six of them.
I was new to the whole concept of writing my thoughts online for other people to read, and my only goal, at first, was to practice writing, not to try to speak to any
readers, nor yet to be so presumptuous as to believe there
WERE any readers besides myself.
It took me a while to find my bearings online. Pam helped a lot, probably without even being aware of it.
She wrote assiduously, whereas I was constantly coming up with ideas but far less disciplined about posting on a daily basis.
And she was never stuck for subject matter. If work was too touchy, if things weren't perfect at home, if she was sick or depressed, she didn't unload it on the world
- she changed the subject.
And the subject was ferrets.
I got to know all of her ferrets like they were friends of mine. I could recognize them by their photographs, I spoke of them to my husband as if they were people I knew in
real life, and they even starred in a highly vivid fever-dream
I had once,in which they were sitting around a picnic table,
wearing napkin bibs, cheerfully partaking in a crab boil.
When Pam lost her first weaselfriend, I don't think I wept as hard as she did, but there was some hard weepage going on up in here, nonetheless.
I had gotten to know her little menagerie, her family, not because she writes with religious regularity, nor because she described them so often, but because she
described them so WELL.
Pam writes, and makes a telepathic connection to me. I try to do that, with my own writing, but I'm never sure I've gotten it right.
I'd like to say it's because of the six weasels, but really, it's that she's Just That Good.
And she's a hard act to follow. Like going on after the Beatles.
P.S. If you're a fan of the original Star Trek, Charlie Brill was Arne Darvin, the agriculture guy who turned out to be a Klingon spy in the Tribble episode.
P.P.S. If you're not a fan of the original Star Trek, Charlie Brill was still Arne Darvin. The only difference is that you don't care.
Pam's Other Note: Having Golf Widow say you're a hard act to follow is like having a master chef compliment you on your cooking when you have him over for dinner. Simply put, she's much more awesome than she realizes.
That's you, you and you. All of you.
I can't thank you enough for all your kind words about our little Ginny. It really means so much to know that people other than us felt like they knew her and cared about her even though they'd never met her. She was an amazing weasel, and she so deserved that.
It also helps to know there are so many people out there who know just how much losing a beloved pet hurts. Some people just don't get that.
For example, Lee seemed bummed at work yesterday, and when one of his coworkers asked him if he was alright he told the guy about losing Ginny. His coworker seemed sympathetic. But an hour later, Lee was moving an empty box out of their work area and the jackhole chuckled and said "what's that? A coffin for your weasel?"
I'm pretty sure the only thing that saved him from getting popped was that the guy in question is older and is one of those people who has succeeded in looking and acting a hundred by the age of 65. No matter what the circumstances, Lee is far too kind to punch a geezer.
We spent a good part of last night snuggled up in bed cuddling Vinnie and making him "weaz." That's basically just playing with him until he gets excited enough to cluck and do the weasel war dance. Weazing means that the weasel in question is, at least at the moment, happy.
We don't want Vinnie to get depressed. But the other side of it is that for us, watching him weaz is really good for the soul right now.
Hugs to all of you, and thanks so much!
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