Ferreting

Last updated: Thu, 08 Sep 2005 12:01:00 GMT

Or is it Polecatting?

I was never quite sure of the technical difference between a ferret and a polecat, even though, for a number of years, I kept, bred and used ferrets and polecats. I had always thought that the big, beefy ones were ferrets, the small, lithe ones polecats. That seems to tally with what Wikipedia has to say on the matter. The ferrets were invariably albino, the polecats brown, and black. The two interbred, more often than not producing big, beefy specimens with polecat colouring.

My, they were vicious brutes, and we never tamed them, fearing that they'd become less useful. I still bear scars, and I can still smell the rank odour of their spraint. "Hobs" and "Jills", we called them. Until now I never knew that they were collectively a "business." I was a boy, then.

We'd take them out shooting with us, on occaision. An arduous task, because they'll escape from anywhere. Regular Houdinis. So we'd need a heavy box to carry them, and all the nets, of course. Some people just shoot over them -- put the ferrets down the hole, stand by with shotguns and shoot rabbits as the make haste to escape. But you need a small warren for that, or a lot of guns. We were few in number. So, we'd carry purse nets. Light, long, sock-like things that are pegged out over likely holes and runs. Then stand ready to shoot the runners.

As the youngest, I relished my assigned tasks: to introduce the ferret to the warren, and to carry the box and the nets. It made me feel important, but I grew to hate the weight of the box, and the nets, and the ferrets. And on a miserable winter's morning, there are things I'd rather have been doing than shovelling piss-stinking straw about.

Some people used to run the ferrets on lines. Not only would ferrets take the opportunity to make a run for freedom themselves, but they would often make a catch of their own. But lines are added fuss, and only hinder the ferret. I had visions of the time we'd find ourselves trying to reel in a recalcitrant hob, he'd just dug in and we'd end up snapping the line. Now dig him out.

Instead we applied some rudimentary Pavlovian conditioning to them. Every once in a while we'd treat them to some of their favourite food. And before I fed them, I'd rustle a cheap plastic bag. They loved the sound anyway, being naturally curious. And so, when I needed them in the box, our in their hutch, so that I could clean their bedding out, I'd entice them to where I wanted with the rustling bag, shut the door and lock them in with a treat. After a while, all we needed to do to get them out of a warren was rustle a plastic bag at the mouth of a hole.

And the same trick was used against their prey, in a way.

With a big warren, you'll find it hard to clear it out and keep it clear. The only ways I'd heard of involved digging the whole thing out or gassing them out with something, like carbon monoxide or cymag. One farmer told me a way he'd cleared a particularly establish warren out and it still puts the fear through me to think of it -- he backed a spreader up to it and pumped a few metric tons of slurry down there. Apparently, those that didn't drown never came back. I can't say I blame them.

Even if you were putting your ferrets down with lines on, you'd likely put a collar on them. If only so that you know they're yours -- people often get together in groups to do this sort of thing. And a lot of people would put a cat bell on the collar. For pretty much the same reason people put bells on cats -- to stop them catching anything. After all, you can feed the ferret on pet food, we want the rabbits for ourselves.

As I said, in a big warren, you're never going to clear them all out. So, after a while, the smart rabbits learn what the sound of the bell means. And it would get to the point where a fellow would carry a cat bell in his pocket, if he were out that way, and just pop in and give them a tinkle, on the offchance that some of them would make a run for it.

I had completely forgotten about this practice, and the smell, and the weight of the box over my shoulder, until I heard this story about the stampede in Iraq. And then this one about another stamped in Sri Lanka. I've got to say, I laughed, but it wasn't funny. I was surprised that it had taken me this long to realise that this is the point of terrorism.

It's so much easier to just carry the bell, give it a tinkle now and then.