On Why You Can't give a Ferret a Pedicure

From our Greasey Creek, Indiana, correspondent

This is Trixie Bismarck, live from Brown County General Hospital. I have an IV pumping deluxe antibiotics into me. My left arm, from the hand to the elbow, is bloated and looks like a beached seal: gray, blotchy, an oozing sore. I run a pet grooming service from my home, an extremely Earth friendly double wide trailer next to a sycamore tree, in my home town, Greasey Creek. You could say I've always had a knack for beautician's work. As a child I would dress and bathe the squirrels that my cat, Alonzo, killed and then give them extensive funerals, complete with make-up and a happy smile. Alonzo only ate the livers, so it was always easy to cover up the gaping wounds with cummerbunds or wide satin sashes.

After high school I moved to Indianapolis and did waitressing. On the side I would groom lap dogs, free lance, until one of my neighbors, Mrs. Ethel T. Sutherland said to me, Child, You have a real knack at this. I'm going to use some of my lottery winnings to send you to Dog Grooming College.

And the rest, they say, is history.

After my Grandma Myrnarae passed, I moved back home. She'd left me her home under the sycamore tree. While still living in the big city, I won several ribbons at the Marion County Fair's Pet Parade. I vowed to not let it go to my head.

Moving home was humbling, because not that many folks wanted their animals primped. Sure, I'd do some mane braiding for the 4-H girls' ponies. Sometimes I'd be asked to brush the teeth of the mayor's prize coon hound. But slowly I built a clientele. One of my new neighbors, another widow like Mrs. Sutherland, who'd helped give me my start, Shaunda Murphy had two Persian cats. She asked me to bathe them and give them a nice blow out. She became a regular and started telling her friends. So bit by bit, I settled back into my life in my hometown.

Everything was fine until The Elmo Event.

Mabel and Fred Cutter were having their fortieth wedding anniversary. They had a nephew but no direct issue, on account of Fred's accident at the power plant, but they did have a pet ferret, Elmo. Mabel adored Elmo and Fred adored Mabel so you see where it was leading. Mabel wanted Elmo at the anniversary party, dressed in a tiny serge suit and washed and groomed to a T. The morning of the party, Mabel and Fred drove to my home (Let me say right here I had a hand-gilded sign that said Pretty Pets Pretty Please on my door) and dropped off Elmo. I told them to come by in an hour and he'd be ready. Mabel handed me a tiny package wrapped in tissue paper. It was Elmo's party suit that she had hand-tailored for the furry creature.

After they left, Elmo and I checked each other out and I began to think that he was a mighty spoiled ferret. Little did I know he was the ferret from Hell.

I ran a tub of warm bathwater scented with lavender. Lavender is known to encourage tranquility but I don't think even a ball-peen hammer would help Elmo to know peace. As soon as I started stroking his long, long back he looked at me with what can only be called an ugly sneer. I started sweet talking him, something I learned from one of my instructors back at the Animal Aesthetician's Academy, but it was to no avail. That beast was just mean. I decided to brush his coat first and that went fair to poor, on the do-ability scale. Then I saw that his claws were a little too pointy for comfort so I wrapped him in a towel (organic bamboo for God's sake) I had healing music playing and the shades drawn and a few candles giving ambient lighting and I took out my Acme Deluxe Belt Sander for Animal claws. Really the name of the thing sounds frightening when it's actually no bigger that an electric toothbrush. Elmo lay still for a moment as I gently held one of his paws.

The next thing I knew he was on my head, pulling out some of my hair. The beast went berserk. We were crashing around the room, knocking into furniture. He grabbed hold of my left hand and started biting. I started screaming. Shaunda, my neighbor, heard the racket and came running. As soon as she opened my front door, Elmo ran out and left me lying on the floor, bleeding. The paramedics arrived soon after and I rode in the ambulance with the sad knowledge that my pet grooming days might be over because I heard one paramedic say to the other, Did you find all her fingers?

I awoke from surgery not knowing where I was. Shaunda was allowed to see me and she told me that Mabel was sedated because Elmo was missing. Fred was looking everywhere for Elmo and That I was very lucky since I didn't lose any thumbs.

A few days passed and some of the bites went bad and they nearly had to cut off my whole arm but it looks like I'll still have two arms but only one and a half hands. But like Shaunda said, at least I didn't lose any thumbs.

It's been a week now and there have been some Elmo sightings. One child swore that Elmo was living in a tree with a squirrel. Fred bought Mabel a Cockapoo which she promptly named Elmo Junior. I don't think Elmo Senior could take anymore, especially the serge suit.

I get to go home in a few days, which will bring relief. The hospital chaplain is a young Pentecostal minister named Jed Pike and he thinks we have a connection. I think he likes the idea of a crippled wife, which would surely contribute to a lot of earnest sermons. I can still change the oil in my car and I'm thinking of trying out for the State Police. My shooting hand is okey-doke, and after wrestling a spoiled rotten ferret, I'm up for just about anything.