Had an unexpected start to my day today.
Well, I guess it wasn’t completely unexpected. My kiddos are old and getting older every day. I just didn’t think Spazz would be next.
I don’t have a good digital solo pic of Spazz, only prints. He was always one of my big boys, a total love who would give kisses when he wasn’t too busy running around.
Spazz and Buddha were “The Brothers.” They weren’t related by blood, but they came to me as a pair when they were only a few months old. They were both overgrown babies: huge for their age and unwanted because of their big size. Buddha had a big ole belly and would cuddle up for a few minutes of neck scratches. Spazz was a different story. He totally lived up to his name.
He was my brother’s ferret. On the night I brought him home, I let all the other kids out to play and put him down on the floor to say his hellos. He literally did laps around the room—running and running and hissing and talking and running and running—for an entire hour until he passed out cold. Spazz fit him perfectly.
Like Miranda and Leroy, Spazz hadn’t been in perfect health, but he’d been holding his own. At eight years old, he was a complete senior citizen. I let the kiddos out to play last night, and I had a bad feeling about Spazz; he had no interest in playing in the water bowl with the other two, which is usually the first place all three of them head to. I found him this morning.
So, now there are two. It’s sad, but inevitable. Ferrets don’t live more than a decade. Leroy is nine now, Miranda is seven; both have their health problems. Our days numbered and despite the sad, I’m prepared for this. I knew it’s been coming.
Will I still be The Weaselmomma when there are no more weasels? I’ll have to think about that one. But, thankfully, we’re not there yet…