Miss Violet crossed the bridge

handfulMiss Violet crossed the rainbow bridge tonight. She joined all the ones that have gone before, Miss Violet was special though. Like Flower, we chose her. We bought her from Total pet when she was 9 weeks old. She was 6 ounces of pure spunk in a cage with males, possibly her siblings, from the same shipment. They were all at least twice her size, and Miss Violet was struggling. So small she could fit in the palm of my hand, she could also fit through the bars of most cages. She was very food aggressive and loved dried chicken strips. One day my friend Nan was going to feed her a piece of chicken. Miss Violet lunged for the chicken, but got Nan’s finger instead. We had to pry her little jaws open to free Nan’s finger. We called her “Itty bitty, not so sweet, but awful pretty”. Itty Bitty used to climb up on Andrew’s recliner and war dance him so hard she would fall off. The 15 ounce Terror. flowerlovesmv
Flower loved Miss Violet. When she was a baby he used to curl himself around her as they slept. That is what he did last night as well. We had decided to separate her last night when we realised she was quite ill. She has never been alone, so we put Flower in with her. He seemed to know something was wrong. We took her into the vet this morning and he thought it was a gastrointestinal infection. We started her on the usual antibiotics and sucralfate. She was dehydrated so we gave her some subcutaneous fluids. I had to go back to work, but Andrew said initially she seemed to perk up a bit. When I got home around 5:30 she had crashed. She was almost comatose and her breathing was congested. It sounded like her lungs were full of fluid. I tried calling the vet, but Murdoch was the Vet on call, and knows nothing about ferrets. The only thing she could offer was euthenization, and that was going to be $200. As it turned out, Miss Violet wouldn’t have lived long enough to get to her office anyway.

Ultimately I have no idea what killed her. She was only four, and showing signs of early adrenal. It was fast, and I suppose that at least is merciful. I would rather she go fast then suffer.

When Ariana, my grand daughter, was 6 I told her a story about Miss Violet wanting to be a fairy. Later I wrote it down and posted it here. One day I would like to see it made into a children’s book. I am not sure how to go about it though. Ah well, D.I.P. my Itty Bitty Miss Violet. You are missed already.

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