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Tuesday, April 29, 2003 3:23:20 AM
EMERGENCY! Bear scares us AGAIN ... It was a seeming typical evening. Isn't that how MOST horror stories begin? I went into the Weezil Room about ten minutes before Weezil Time [Weezil Time is twice a day at 10am and 8pm Pacific Time, lasting between thirty and sixty minutes each...] Slowly the ferrets emerged from their napping places and began to come alive in that magic way that only ferrets seem to have - going from unconscious to MENTAL in seconds flat! I was happily plucking ferrets off my pantlegs, shoulder, head, etc ... As usual, I did a silent head count, matching name and number, when I heard a strange gurgling noise right behind me.
I quickly turned to face the source of this strange sound and saw Bear with his head tucked under a layer of newspaper near one of the litter boxes. His little sides were heaving like miniature bellows as he apparently vomited repetitively under the cover of the daily news. Not wanting to take my eyes off him for a second in case he moved or did something else, I called urgently to my husband to come take a look. The tone of my voice must have lent urgency to my summons, as James was at the door of the ferret room after only two or three repetitions of his name coupled with an order to get in here immediately, please! James swiftly took my place as observer to watch Bear closely as he continued to vomit, moving around the ferret room a bit seemingly in an effort to find a more comfortable spot for himself. I took the opportunity to dash into the back bedroom and collect my ferret medical reference books to try to diagnose poor Bear's condition. The sinking feeling of dread coupled with a mother's instinct for danger was nagging at me to get Bear to the vet asap! I expressed myself at that point to my husband, while barely being able to read the words in the ferret reference book due to overwhelming stress over Bear's continuing condition. Within moments, my husband echoed my decision to seek medical attention for our little Beary Weezil and my job was then to grab the phone, the phone book, and call the local emergency vet to make sure they see ferrets! After what seemed like hours, my husband told me to call our regular vet's office, as their voice message had the phone number for the closest emergency vet facilities. Less than five minutes later we were on our way to the closest hospital that provided ferret care - the same emergency facility we took Bandit to a couple of years back, located a mere few moments from our old apartment! The fact that we knew where the place was located helped in getting us there faster, but the fact that it was 30 minutes away created a stumbling block in our race against time. Bear was still vomiting when we placed him quickly but gently in the little carrier with a couple of towels - my husband drove while my mind was kept occupied by mentally willing any traffic to NOT be in our way as well as concentrating on having the temporary absence of any law enforcement officials along our driving route.... A record-breaking fifteen minutes or so after hastily leaving eleven of twelve of our fuzzies to guard the house, we arrived at the emergency vet center in Lynnwood, WA. Apparently the gentleman that I spoke with before leaving the house had not had the chance to tell anyone else of our impending arrival, but that seemed inconsequential at the time. Bear was breathing and conscious, although looking quite ill with red-rimmed eyes that somewhat curiously peered out from underneath a pile of towels inside his little crate. I was thanking all the powers in the universe for Bear being alive still ... we had no idea what was wrong - only knew that Bear was sicker than we had ever seen him or any other ferret since the horrid vaccine allergic reaction [see below for details on that...] Twenty-four long, worry-filled hours passed before we saw our Bear again. Several calls were made to the vet, all of which were filled with vague reassurances and devoid of any diagnosis. I think I slept an hour that night, unable to lie in bed while thinking of Bear in that clinic, alone, with none of his brothers or sisters or toys or his own bed or tubes or .... I was a complete irrational mess in the morning. Fortunately I was able to shake it off long enough to get through nine hours of work ... All we knew late that evening was that we could go SEE Bear, not necessarily bring him home. We brought two blankets that were good and ferrety - I made sure that at least one of his fellow ferrets had slept in each - plus one of his favorite toys and a small amount of his favorite food. The trip back to the clinic was not nearly as harrowing as the initial one, but was laced with a different sort of anxiety. What if he had to stay another night? What if he was worse? He DID throw up again after he ate late afternoon Saturday, so we were told. The possibilities for Bear's prognosis were marching endlessly and depressingly through my mind like holy mantras. Only some shred of dignity kept me from jumping out of the car before we rolled to a stop in the parking lot. Bear was given the green light to come home with us! We were thrilled to say the least, and thanked the doctor profusely while we lovingly placed Bear's belongings in his cage. The first thing he did was to acknowledge us in his own ferrety way, a peer and a slight head movement towards us, then he dove underneath the blankets we brought and all we saw of him for the remainder of the time settling up the bill, etc. at the clinic was in the form of an occasionally moving lump under the blankets. Every once in a while we saw Bear's little face poking out from under a few blanket layers ... A week later, Bear is back to his normal self - dooking and dancing, jumping and tackling, leaping and running, - like nothing ever happened. I'd much rather have it this way then any other! Hug your fuzzies TODAY - right now - because each moment with them is precious and fleeting. |
November 2, 2002 (entry presented here to follow Bear's latest health scare)
Vaccine Reactions : The Extreme Weezils' Brush with Disaster
The Basics : Four of our eight ferrets were due for their annual rabies and distemper vaccines. We chose Bandit, Bear, Blitz, and Basil to take with us on that fateful day, having absolutely no idea what was to follow...Although all four of them already had their vaccinations at least TWICE thus far without incident, THREE of the four above named ferrets had very bad allergic reactions, ranging from near-deadly to mild but lingering ... The Details : I must begin my tale with a heartfelt thanks to our vet, Dr. Eitner DVM, for his prompt, professional, and utterly thorough response to the quite unexpected allergic reactions my ferrets had to their distemper vaccines. Here is the exact specifications for that vaccine : Purevax-D manufactured by Merial serial #69007 When the last of four ferrets were just getting their well-ferret exam completed, Bear, the first of four to get his shots, was vomiting under the blankets in the large carrier. His tail was all bottle-brushed out and he had red-rimmed eyes. When my husband James placed Bear on the exam table, he was rigid, gasping for breath with his mouth open, and looking right into my eyes seeming to say, "Mama, I'm sick - Help me!" I had NEVER seen a ferret react to anything like this before, this severe, this pronounced, and this heartbreaking. Almost instantly, our vet scooped Bear up and told us he'd return shortly. Bear was going to be given emergency treatment. He was very, very sick. James and I sat mute in the exam room, watching the other three ferrets intently while straining to hear any sign of Bear's status from the emergency room a few doors down. The only thing keeping the tears from spilling uncontrollably down my face in rivulets of anguish was the need to watch our other three fuzzies for similar signs of allergic reaction. The longest ten minutes of my life ended with Dr. Eitner returning to the room with Bear wrapped in a white towel. He was barely conscious, as limp as a wet noodle, and virtually non-responsive. He had received IV antihistamines and corticosteroids, and had stabilized. However, we were told that he could possibly still pass away. With a mind struck numb by horror and worry, I mechanically found my way to the front desk to pay for the services rendered to our four fuzzies. We were leaving with only three, however. Bear had to stay a couple of hours for observation. The idea that Bear was perfectly healthy a mere hour before, and that we subjected him to this seemingly routine procedure that had potentially fatal after effects crushed me like an eggshell. The tears flowed silently down my face from the parking lot to our driveway, as I felt little need to discuss what had just happened until I knew what would develop... We pulled into the driveway shadowed by Saxon, who greeted us with open enthusiasm as only a puppy can pull off. James gently removed the carrier from the backseat of the car, where they were watched closely by me the entire ride home. With a startled exclamation, James brought to my attention the fact that Blitz was not moving, at all. Bandit and Basil, as usual, raised their heads when the carrier was taken out of the car. Blitz did not, and careful inspection showed him to be in the beginning stages of a similar reaction to what happened to Bear. In an instant, the jobs were handed out : James was to rush back to the vet with Blitz and I was to put the seemingly healthy Bandit and Basil back in their room then call the vet to tell them of Blitz's momentary arrival. Meanwhile, I was doubly devastated and trying to control a mounting panic combined with a profound sorrow - feelings that I had never experienced before in the same magnitude. Poor Saxon was looking for a bit of attention, but I was trying to reach the vet's office via phone, which included actually remembering where the vet's phone number was, holding after the initial pick up at the front desk, and hastily trying to calm myself down enough to sound rational over the phone enough to explain Blitz's condition. Immediately after I hung up the phone, I intuitively made my way back to the ferret room to check on the other fuzzies. What I saw chilled my blood almost instantly : Bonzai was hovering over Bandit, who had buried himself under the blankets at the bottom of their big cage and looked to be convulsing. I had to get my boots off to get into the room, else I'd risk hurting a ferret. My boots came off quickly and were just as quickly stolen by a now frantic Saxon. He thought it was great fun to steal Mom's shoes, like he usually does. I had no time to chase Saxon - I had to figure out what to do at that moment. Although my mind seemed frozen into inaction by the horror that had slowly developed over that past hour, I was able to access my logic side to assess my options then act on them. While trying to remember where my husband put the other carrier, I figured that there was little chance that I would be able to get the truck out of the driveway without Saxon hurling himself in front of it in an attempt to join me. How was I going to get my babies to the vet? For all I knew, Bandit would soon be dead if he did not get emergency treatment. My Bandito Burrito was dying! I had to help him! How? By this time I was in full hyperventiallation mode - half crying and half panting. Not thinking to bother looking for another pair of shoes [Saxon was still playing with mine somewhere in the house] I ran at full speed across my yard, up over the gate, across the street, and up to the front doorway of our neighbor's house [Bill and Betty.] They are the neighborhood watch couple, the ones who know everything that happens on this part of the street, and were good friends with my in-laws [we bought this house from my husband's parents last year.] Bill answered the front door immediately, as he spotted me flying across the street in my socks with puffy eyes and half-hysterical. I was somehow able to ask him if he could bring me to the vet in order to save the lives of my fuzzies. He brought his huge diesel-powered truck around to pick me up while I flew back into the house to get my ferrets... The extra carrier was in the garage on a high shelf. I still don't remember how I reached it without a ladder. Moments later I was in the ferret room, where I scooped up the flaccid, half-conscious Bandit and threw Basil in there with him for good measure [even though he wasn't showing any signs of reaction, I wanted to be safe!] Somehow I found a pair of slides for my feet, flew out the back door, and virtually dove up into the cab of Bill's truck after placing the carrier carefully in first. We were off. I had no idea before that point that Bill had a heart condition, making his breathing labored in response to any stressor. I was such a mess that it took me a moment to figure out why Bill was breathing almost as rapidly as I was, and decided that for the sake of BOTH us, I needed to calm down and repeat reassuring observations during the trip back to the vet. I was saying things like, "Bandit's still breathing - he's still alive, " and, "Basil, get off your brother's head so I can see if he's still breathing." We pulled into the vet's office, which is located in a strip mall off the main street in the city we live in. When Bill rounded the corner of the parking lot, I saw James getting back into our car, apparently leaving to return home. Why was he leaving so soon? The other two ferrets must have died, I kept saying to myself over and over. I had to stop him! I had to know! That is what my panic-state was telling me, anyway. We honked the horn of the truck a couple of times to try to get James' attention, but he continued to back out of the parking space and drive out of the parking lot. Bill pulled into the just-vacated spot while I flew out of the cab of the truck and ran as fast as my slides would allow me to, waving my arms and screaming at the top of my lungs in a final effort to get James' attention. He was confronted by a sudden image of his wife in the middle of the main street, hysterical, jumping up and down and screaming. Of course at that moment I didn't care - I was successful in flagging him down. James returned to the parking lot, I explained quickly what had happened to Bandit, and after profusely thanking Bill while taking the carrier out of his truck, we went back into the vet's office for the third time that day .... At the end of the day, everyone recovered. The vet said he has never seen such a violent and wide-spread reaction when giving ferret distemper vaccines [we figured out immediately that was the culprit] and went so far as to contact the manufacturer, followed by dumping the remainder of that lot number. The manufacturer said that no, they had no reports of any reactions to their vaccine - ours was the first. BEWARE - WATCH YOUR FERRETS IMMEDIATELY AND SHORTLY AFTER BEING VACCINATED
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Friday, March 28, 2003 12:00:00 PM After one month of a TRIAL stay, it seems to be official : Sonya [referred to as Black Dog below] is a memeber of our family. We now have TWELVE fuzzies : eight ferrets, two cats, and two dogs ... |
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Tuesday, February 25, 2003 2:32:23 PM Today, the expected but dreaded event happened. James came home from the River with Saxon, where they go every afternoon rain or shine, and ran in the house yelling, "Get your shoes and coat on and come outside NOW!" Obviously, something was up ... I grabbed my coat, already having my shoes on in anticipation of another routine day of errands, and darted out the back door. There in the cab of James' truck was a female black lab-pit-bull mix wearing a too-tight spiked collar and without tags.
While James and Saxon were walking along the river's edge, a dog was barking at them from the bushes. Being a total animal lover for longer than I have, James knew there was something wrong, although at the time he was not sure what. So, after putting Saxon in the truck for safety's sake, James returned to The Scene to investigate. At first BlackDog [that is what I'll refer to her as, since we do not know her name] was afraid, and was seemingly protective over a bag containing dog food and a bone. James squatted down to get as close to eye level as he could with her while maintaining a comfortable distance and softly spoke to her. Slowly, her anxiety and protectiveness ebbed away until she slithered almost on her belly on the ground up underneath my husband's crouched figure, rolled herself into a ball, and shivered. We believe BlackDog was abandoned on purpose by someone, explaining the dog food and bone. She looks healthy: well-fed, shiny coat, and bright eyes, with decent looking teeth. James didn't have the heart to leave her there, and I expected nothing less ... Of course we CANNOT keep her, with our brood! Besides, we raised Saxon from a small puppy to not only tolerate but assimilate into our already-existing family of ferrets and cats. The one thought that keeps me solid in my knowledge that we CANNOT keep BlackDog is the unneccessary risk we would be putting all our other fuzzies in. Who knows what she would do to our two cats and eight ferrets? I broke out the cordless phone and the phone book, after bringing out even more food and water for both Saxon and his new found friend, and wrote down all the phone numbers of local area no-kill shelters. There are only two within an hours drive either way from us - the closest one being NOT a no-kill shelter, which neither my husband or I can even fathom bringing her to. We stood outside and watched Saxon and BlackDog romp around the entire yard, playing and mock fighting, sharing food and water, and having a grand old time of it. I couldn't watch anymore - call me a coward - but I knew that the longer I stayed outside, the more likely I would start changing my mind. So, I wait in the house, out of the sunny day that is decidedly freezing cold, while James waits for his mom to call back before we make our 'final desicion.' My mother-in-law is famous for finding strays and abandoned animals and taking them in. It has been a lifetime trait, and she has passed it down to her son. Thanks, ma! Saturday, February 08, 2003 11:19:27 AM Today I had a sobering thought slammed home in my mind. Here is what happened : While the ferrets were out for their first romp of the day, all eight of them of course, the doorbell rang. My husband had just gotten up and dressed a few minutes before, and for some reason I thought that he somehow snuck by me and got outside for some reason, only to find he locked himself out. At least that is what I interpreted the noises of a man talking to a very excited dog right outside the front door [Saxon stays OUTSIDE during weezil time, as will be further explored here ... ]
After making sure no ferrets would be able to make it to the door in time to try to get outside [like this house isn't already big enough for them, right?] I quickly opened the door a hair, enough for a ferret-saavy person to slip through ... NOTE : How did I know how long it would take for the ferrets to run to the door from any given point in the house? I am now proficient in Weezil Fizzix : the Physics of Ferrets, to be explained in depth elsewhere on this website ... To my horror, it was NOT my husband on the other side of that door, which I found out while Saxon was squeezing his way inside, not to be impeeded. I mumbled something incoherently apologetic, indicating to the man that he had to wait a moment, and screamed for my husband. I had a death grip on Saxon's collar, and all eight ferrets decided that their canine brother was suddenly the most interesting thing on the planet. My husband was past me and out the front door faster than a blink, offering me the advice of, "Hold him!" Suddenly, I was trying to control a huge German Shepherd puppy [he's about 80 pounds and STILL growing now] AND eight determined and curious ferrets, all desperate to get at the other. Saxon was able to almost break my hold on his collar, as I was trying in vain to keep Blizzard and some of the more aggressively curious ferrets away ... [he doesn't deserve to get ferret-bit!] Saxon ran down the hall towards the bedroom, all the while chased by ferrets, nipped at by ferrets, pulled on and yelled at by me, and excited to be in the midst of all the action finally. Every ferret that approached Saxon from the front was experimentally but half-heartedly stomped on with those HUGE puppy-paws, as I followed just a hair behind using the well known avoid-the-ferret-step. Somehow, each ferret danced away just before it looked like someone might get hurt from over-enthusiasm When we got in the bedroom, Saxon and I were surrounded by ferrets, all wary but very curious. Blizzard had NO such wariness and was diving in for a chance to nip at Saxon, as per usual. I attempted to follow the well meant advice of putting Saxon in his crate in situations such as that, but Saxon wouldn't budge. I am sure it was because Blizzard kept dancing in front of the doorway of the crate in an almost taunting way, seeming to say in ferret body language that he was going to get at Saxon regardless of crates or bars. I couldn't put Blizzard up on the bed because he would have, in his own over-enthusiasm, jumped right off and reinjured his leg [he STILL limps, as he has since day one, and probably always will - I will always wonder how his original owners let that happen ...] Necessity mandated that I put all the ferrets back in their room. I could NOT do that while holding on to Saxon's collar, so I was rounding up eight terrified but exhilarated ferrets with Saxon close on my heels. He was taking tentative measures to reach out to his ferret siblings by gently stepping on them with one large puppy paw. At least I'm sure that is how SAXON saw it. I saw a large, scary looking German Shepherd guard dog, appearing as though he had been trained to kill [that is how fierce he actually looks, although he is afraid of lawn tools and brooms - but don't tell him I told you ...] stomping on my babies, my ferrets, my WEEZILS! That is when I realized something, although at the time it was just a glimmer in the back of my mind. After gathering up all eight puffed out bottle brush tailed ferrets and getting them safely in their room [I almost forgot how to count, as I always count out loud when taking ferrets out or putting them back in their room - being so afraid for them my mind almost lost the ability to grasp simple numbers ...] it hit me HARD : given the choice between allowing harm to come to the ferrets and allowing harm [or causing harm, for that matter, in order to protect the weezils] to my dog, I knew that the ferrets come first. As horrifying as it sounds, I had to get physical with Saxon to move him away from Bonzai, who was trying to get out of a tube but Saxon kept sticking his nose in there and actually SWIPED at Bonzai with one large, well clawed paw. I pushed Saxon away, hard enough to make enough time for Bonzai to escape to the safety of my arms, and screamed at him in a way I never did before - with total anger in my voice, only caring for the safety of Bonzai. |
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