Last but not least...

Last week Ben and I lost the last of our ferrets, Tiny Weasel (a.k.a. Madame Weaselle, Little Miss Weasel). She started out as a mean little ferret, jumping out from behind furniture to nip our ankles. I blame the kennel where she spent the early part of her life. As she grew older, she mellowed and become a wonderful little weasel. Eventually, she became the sweetest of them all, and in her dotage spend many happy hours on my lap getting her ears scratched. She also briefly became my office weasel, and would come in about once a day to beg for a raisin.

Tiny had numerous bizarre yet appealing habits. She loved stealing the recycling from the bin and spent much of her ferret childhood trying to cram one-gallon milk jugs into three-inch diameter ferret tubing without much success. For reasons unknown, she predominately moved backwards, and would sometimes scurry backwards across the entire kitchen floor when you only so much as glanced at her. She also had several "stations" throughout her life: places, typically next to a refrigerator or recycling bin, from where she would stare out in a vapid yet endearing fashion. In North Branford, we stuck a Post-it note titled "Tiny's Station" on the base of the fridge next to the spot where she liked to stand and watch the kitchen proceedings.

Despite being the smallest, most fragile-appearing ferret, Tiny was remarkably stoic, a fact that allowed her to enjoy camping trips. She loved digging for moles under picnic tables and taking naps in our sleeping bag. She will be much missed.

I'll leave you with a classic Tiny Weasel pose:

May, 2007

May, 2012