(beelerspace)

In May of 2001, I got this email from our good friend Zach:
“hey man, i was wondering if you were interested in a wonderfully playful ferret by the name of Magoo. I am never home anymore, and i feel bad because he always seems bored. I was going to see if you wanted him, so he could have some friend ferrets to play with.”

At the time, I think we had 3 or 4 ferrets already. Magoo would certainly not be bored. We’d babysat the little guy before, and he’d gotten along alright with the gang. So, we gladly accepted the watch and care of one Magoo ferret. The first thing that happened quickly was that he somehow adopted the moniker of a then-aspiring search engine.

He fit in pretty well, although not perfectly. Ferris, the oldest, was at the top of the peking order, and young Magoo felt things should be a little different. I don’t think they ever really reconciled their differences entirely, but I think Google eventually conceded that, yes, Ferris was in charge, and he was at the bottom. The problem was that Google just never stopped ticking. He was ready to go as soon as he woke up, and I think that irritated the other ferrets. He never quite connected as deeply as some of the other ferrets did, but he was definitely a brother and treated as such. I feel like he reciprocated by keeping the other ferrets active, never letting them drop their guard. For the longest time they were surprised by his sudden seemingly spastic and immediate calls for play. It would be funny to watch Google drinking water, quite calmly, next to another ferret, and then him suddenly decide that it was time to play.

Google was a rough fighter. Unlike our other ferrets who eventually figured out the balance of play v. “ouch! you punctured my weak human finger,” Google never did. Play with him long enough and you’d walk away with a scratched up hand replete with bite and scratch marks. Still, I kept coming back, because Google was so much fun. He got the spirit of “the game,” the give and take of a playfight. He was always willing to playfight. He had a characteristic stance down too, where he’d set his oversized puppy-like paws in front and recoil the rest of his body until he pounced competitively (but playfully). He was always full of energy, suddenly sprinting down the hall to chase me for no reason at all except that I’m sure it was fun, or playfully attacking someone’s foot because it was unconsciously moving.

Google acted young nearly his whole life, so it came as a surprise to us when, after Franey died, we suddenly realized he was actually 5 years old - well above an average ferret’s midlife. He’d been acting 1 or 2 years old all his life. But without a ferret playmate to keep him active, I think age set in more quickly. I remember Cosi being very young, maybe half a year, and recognizing Google approach and walk away. I think that if Google kept acting so young we might have had to watch his interactions with Cosi more careful as I’m sure he’d unintentionally hurt her, but the older Google never did, despite being woken up dozens of times by a curious Cosette, or followed around the house, or poked and prodded. More recently, Cosi has taken to feeding him raisins from her snack cup, and she’s pretty good at it. Google was part of a vast ecosystem that exists beneath Cosi’s chair, and he knew full well how to elicit snacks from the newest member of the Beelers.

And I think Cosi considers him as much a part of the Beeler family as we are. I believe she’ll miss him, in the way 2 year olds can anyway.

I know I will. He’s been really good to us, especially since Cosi has been born, which was right around the time Franey died. I’ll miss hearing the thump-thump-thump of his still-energetic scratching upstairs, and the frequent pitter-patter of him hopping down the stairs to try and collect the goods falling from Cosi’s portion of the table. I loved his willingness to play, how even in the last year he’d still chase down my belt with all the vigor of chasing a snake in the wild, or wrestle over one of Cosi’s pacifiers with me.

He’s been sleeping in a closet next to my bed, and recently I’ve been hearing whimpers; nightmares I imagine, or just pains throughout the night. He’s been losing his hair, and the use of his back legs - symptomatic of a common disease in Marshall Farm-bred ferrets. The other day, Cosi picked him up and put him in her crib, then ran downstairs to tell us so. By the time I got to him, he was having a seizure in her crib.

I think we could put Google on medication, watch him go up and down over the next 6 months until it gets to the point that medication can’t help. But I can’t help but feel that if Google could talk, he would tell me that’s not the way for a ferret like him to go. I think if he were in the wild, he would have been a survivor; perhaps donning his own share of battle scars, and finally falling in some kind of epic battle with a fox or owl. Unfortunately, there’s no way for him to fight what’s happening inside his now old body. It’s too slow, below his radar.

It’s been amazing to me how these small creatures have each taught me something about how to live my life. Google’s readiness to play and to fight - in a sense two very similar activities really - is a trait that lasted throughout nearly his entire life, one that I would do will to copy. I kept coming back to play with him too, even though I knew I’d walk away with wounds. I think that’s important to realize, that if you’re competitive and energetic, people won’t mind getting a few scratches just to keep up with you. In fact, they’ll enjoy it, because you do.

I’ll miss that about him. I’ll miss Google.

We told Cosi that Google was going on a big trip, on an adventure. She liked that idea. This morning she made him a little snack package, and picked out what she decided was appropriate reading material for a trip. So far, his means of transportation included plane, spaceship, car, and helicopter.

When I walked outside today with Google in hands to take to the vet, it was as if on queue everyone on the block walked out as well. It made it harder. Matt Hale was on his way to work. Paul and his kids were on their porch, and the Sinsabaughs had just piled into their van. It was good timing, especially since Adeline has done such a great job babysitting Google. I think Google enjoyed seeing everyone.

I took him to the vet. The receptionist recognized me immediately. We haven’t been in there that much over the last year or two, but it seemed like for a while we’d visit at least once a month. We have had a ferret-filled life.

And Google was our last. If anyone should turn out the lights on the ferret residence known as The Beelers, it should be Google. He deserves that honor.

We buried him today next to his brothers and sisters in the back of my parents yard, where there are now five nameless rocks, each representing a soul of the Beeler family that is gone, and missed.

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