Even when not operating with an early Jurassic-era relic like the Artifact, photographing the free-range weasel in his natural habitat can be quite a challenge.
The challenge comes because the free-range ferret rarely stops moving. He goes from full-speed-ahead to deaf-ferret-sleep. There’s little room for anything in between. That’s one of the many traits that I’ve come to love about the little guys over the past five years.
They’re busy, and why wouldn’t they be. There’s a million things to do on any given night. Food must be stashed, because the dog no doubt depleted all of the previous night’s stashes….which also explains the dog’s difficulty doing her, um…business that morning.
There’s also a box full of rice that needs to be dug around in. There’s a pile of blankets and pillows that needs to be thoroughly investigated. Buddha has to stash the blue, football-shaped dog toy under the cabinet, and Leroy has to get it out from under the cabinet and put it back under the bed.
Lea has to scruff Min and drag her around. Miranda has to go wrestle with that old strapless bra that she loves so much. Otto has to make sure that the deaf babies are OK, and then he has to eat every last crunchie kibble piece out of the playtime dish in the middle of the room.
Someone has to go for swim…or at least go bobbing for whatever…in the waterbowl, and the girls have to climb onto the bed over and over, even though they know that they’re not allowed on the bed.
I mean, what kind of weasels would they be if all these things didn’t get done? They wouldn’t be able to call themselves a ‘business’ anymore! (For the ferret-illiterate, a group of ferrets is known as a ‘business.’ Never has there been a more-appropriate term for a grouping of species.)
What this means for me, The Weaselmomma, though, is that ferret time will always be hectic. I will always be untangling ferrets from balls of yarn, and I’ll always be attempting to thwart their efforts to get into
my purse the closet my shoes my pant legs the bathroom the dog’s dish the refridgerator the washing machine the garage the couch cushions stuff that they’re not supposed to be in.
This also means that, unless there’s a stroke of real luck, I’ll never get a truly great photograph of the ferrets unless they’re bribed, they’re under the weather, or they’re sound asleep.
The point of this: not much.
Full disclosure: I really just wanted an excuse to show off my kiddos.
Tangled Yoke is still on time out. Henry is about 19 rows in and still rolling on the first ball of yarn.
You may wonder what Madori thinks about all of this weasel business (punny, hah!).
In general, I’d say…unimpressed.