I did it. I took the plunge. I’m fostering an animal.
I couldn’t foster a dog because we have doggy visitors regularly and I’ve got a houseful of my own (two of whom are 14 years old). I couldn’t foster a cat or kittens, much as I would like to, because my significant other is allergic. (The one cat I do have is grandfathered in, of course, because who would have a significant other who insisted she get rid of pets?)
So no dogs, no cats—but there was one possibility: I’m fostering a ferret!
I’ve had ferrets for almost a decade now, starting out with one, as we all do, and ending up with five in the original business. Yes, that’s what a group of ferrets is called . . . a business!
When the last of my three male ferrets died, the two remaining girl ferrets were obviously affected. They seemed lethargic and depressed, and I believe they were. Ferrets bond with other ferrets and, apparently, become very sad when a bonded ferret friend passes on. But everything changed when I brought home The Biscuit, a young male kit (that’s what a baby ferret is called). The girl ferrets cheered right up. He’s a charmer—friendly, social, without bad habits. He made a difference.
Then, as ferrets do, my girls both died, months apart.
The Biscuit became a singleton—the only ferret in the house. That’s not the best situation for a ferret, in my opinion. I will say, considering that my dogs and my cat all play with him (actively and safely), it’s not as if he has no one but me to interact with. I moved a cage into the sunporch off my bedroom so he can be in the same room with us at night. I moved a cage to the screened porch that looks out on the back yard so he can get fresh air and be nearby while the dogs and I are outside.
I reconfigured the ferret dormitory so he has two empty cages to play in, as well as all the crazy stuff I’ve accumulated over the years for my ferrets’ entertainment—a ball pit, endless tubes and connector balls, fancy fleece sleeping places, ferret toys galore. The small dog (five pounds) and the cat (12 pounds) play there with him often. I’ve moved him around from cage to cage—I own a total of eight ferret cages in a variety of sizes and shapes—trying to keep him as close to me and the other pets as possible a lot of the time. He does have us, and he seems okay, but . . .
I think a ferret needs ferret friends.
I looked at ferrets in pet stores, especially after the chain superstore on my side of town advertised a nationwide ferret sale. But when I went in that weekend, I found that the chain had raised the price to almost twice as much as I had ever paid for a ferret, then advertised that the price would be half-off. That is a lot of money to pay for a ferret you know will live only a short time—a lifespan likely to end in death from one of the many widespread ferret diseases, with possibly huge medical expenses along the way. Plus, it’s starting to feel unethical to me to purchase a pet when the option exists to adopt.
(Now, I am all for good breeders. My golden retrievers, with one exception, came from good breeders. But to buy an animal that has been bred only to sell, with little or no consideration of what genetic material is being passed on . . . that’s not seeming like the best idea to me at this point. Already, three of my animals are the result of unknown couplings. My cat, second-hand to me, was adopted from a shelter, and two of my dogs were found in the street—one by me, the other by animal control.)
I had gotten into my head that what I’d like as a companion for my boy ferret would be a girl ferret, and I wanted a DEW—which is ferret-speak for a Dark-Eyed White, a white or mostly white ferret with ruby eyes that usually look dark brown (not an albino). My favorite girl ferret from my original business was a DEW, all white, and she was the sweetest thing, tiny and perfect.
(In a costume contest one Halloween at our local chain pet store, she was the ferret who bested the many dogs also entered. Her made-by-me costume was a goth-inspired—think Abby from NCIS—wedding gown, white tulle with black ribbons and bows. Mister Wu, my biggest sable boy, wore a black cape accented with purple, to accompany her. They were Count Fertula and The Bride of Fertula!)
I found my foster ferret online. On the Facebook page of a ferret rescue just ten miles from my home, I saw a dark-eyed white female, ten months old. Her youth and appearance were encouraging, but the reason she was in a ferret rescue in the first place was not: she is a biter. (She bites people, not other ferrets.)
I am a dog trainer and have been a cat owner since childhood. I have dealt with biting animals much bigger than ferrets. I’ve even known a few horses who were nippers. One of my ferrets was a biter when he first came to my house, as a kit, but overcoming that instinct in him (Mister Wu) was remarkably easy. I simply followed much the same protocol I would with a young puppy having the same issue.
I’ve proven to be pretty good at teaching bite inhibition—“Don’t bite down on human skin or clothing.”—to a lot of dogs, several cats, and one very successful ferret. I know what to do. Teaching bite inhibition to a ferret isn’t appreciably different from teaching it to a dog. It’s just that everything is smaller! When I found out that this particular young female ferret would probably spend the rest of her life in the rescue shelter because of her biting problem, I said, I want to try.
I contacted the rescue organization and got a quick response—always a good sign! Over the phone, I heard more about this particular ferret’s background. She had been adopted as a kit from a chain pet store where she had been biting the employees. The woman who adopted her feared that the ferret would be bought and returned, possibly again and again, because of her biting issue. However, the original purchaser soon found out that she (the human) had neither the skills nor the time to devote to rehabbing this ferret . . . which is how the ferret ended up at the rescue organization.
I must have made a good case for my background in training. When I asked about taking this young ferret home to “try her out”—to work on the biting issue and to see if she got along with the rest of my animal family—the rescue coordinator suggested a fostering situation. Yes!
I made one promise (inasmuch as one can make promises about animals one doesn’t know)—I would not make the biting worse. In other words, whether or not I keep this ferret as a family member, I will do my best to improve the quality of her life, now and in the future. I might return her, with a great deal of information, to the shelter—more adoptable, I would hope, than she was when I got her. Or . . .
. . . I could, you know, fall in love with her and keep her.
Friends are already betting that will happen. If so, I will be fine with it. Right now, the little ferret has been in my home for less than two full days, so we’ve got a lot of distance to cover before any big decisions are made. The dogs and cat (and some visiting dogs) have met her. They have all previously proven safe with ferrets but, believe me, I was holding her during their interaction! They seemed to approve. She didn’t appear particularly concerned about them, just interested. She hasn’t yet met The Biscuit, my singleton ferret. That’s a few days down the line. Regardless of any improvement to the biting issue, The Biscuit gets the final say. He’s gotta like her, too.
I’ve experienced only two bites in two days, one to my arm above the wrist that left two perforations but no blood (in other words, the bite was inhibited—but, yes, it hurt) and one to a finger, which she hardly grazed. I’m learning to predict bites from her movements. She’s learning that, to get put down, she has to stop struggling.
But we’ll talk more about ferret training in upcoming weeks, okay?
Next, I’m thinking about a name for her. She gets a new one. Wish us luck?
