Ferrets I have known....

 

Shagger in his prime

Time for a 'light-hearted' post, if there was ever one that could emerge from my strange and chaotic mind. Anyways, this is a tribute to a long-dead friend. Also tis a welcome change from my more intense and cerebral posts.  

I've owned a few ferrets in my time. When young I'd go out on the heath with gramps and Shagger, the ferret, grubbing for rabbits for the pot. Old grampa was a veteran of the Great War and said very little. He seemed to me, a towering giant, although my father attests that he only stood 6 foot 3 inches. As a young boy, I was in awe of my grandfather. He had a certain presence and spoke volumes by being silent. And grandfather was a very, very, silent man. However, if I talked out of turn or transgressed in any way I'd receive a swift clip to the head accompanied by a few terse words delivered in his thick black country accent.

We would go out and catch a few rabbits for the pot, and granddad would dispatch the poor buggers with a deft slap to the neck and the struggling would cease. I preferred my cony roasted. A deliciously, dark and dry meat. On occasion, old gramps would light a fire, in the field, and we would roast the rabbits after a day's hunting. One day, out and about, granddad's Staffordshire Brindle Bull Terrier got loose and killed Shagger with a growl and a flick. I was mortified as I truly loved that ferret. Even though the nasty bugger would bite and chew heartedly at my hands when handled. Even today, when my hands get a tan, I can still see the thin tracery scars left by Shagger's tender ministrations: Shagger's legacy. Did I mention that I loved that ferret?

I've owned a couple of ferrets since then, but none could remotely compare to the original, and best-loved ferret, called Shagger.