Gervase Phinn: Ferreting out the facts

The Yorkshire man replied bluntly, "I'd say it'd be a ruddy miracle. I've got a ferret in there." One memorable media classic was when Richard Whiteley, then a Calendar presenter, was prevailed upon to hold a ferret. It dug its teeth into his fingers and hung on with needle-like teeth. Unlike the viewers, poor Richard was far from amused and he screwed up his face in agony.

I once visited a classroom in a primary school deep in heart of the Yorkshire Dales. In the corner was a small boy, sitting a little apart from the others and I could well understand why. From him emanated a rather strange and musky smell.

The boy's account was about ferrets. He wrote that they make wonderful pets, they don't bark, are clean and are mischievous little creatures that can give hours of pleasure. He informed the reader that the young, called kits, with plenty of handling and lots of patience become obedient and soon stop biting. His ferret, called Ferdie, had its favourite toys, loved cooked meat and bananas and was allowed to roam free in his bedroom where it used a cat's litter tray when "he needs to go".

I learnt a great deal about ferrets from this young man. For example, ferrets can sleep for up to 24 hours a day, are generally most lively at dawn and dusk, that they come in all shapes and sizes and that they are great escape artists. The boy told me how he looked after his pet, clipping its nails regularly, cleaning its ears, bathing it and giving it plenty of exercise.

Touring the schools in the dales and on the moors, I was always immensely impressed by the expert knowledge of the children who lived there, how they could identify a breed of sheep, recognise a species of bird from faded feather, tell me how to tickle a trout or dig a dyke, repair a dry-stone wall and prepare a ram for breeding.

Here was another expert, who went on to describe how ferrets are still the most popular and most humane form of rabbit control. "This is really interesting," I told the boy.

"Do you want to see him?" he whispered. "See him?" I repeated.

"Ferdie's in my bag. I sometimes bring him to school. He gets lonely, you see."

"Perhaps another time," I told him.

At a country showground some months later, I visited the ferret enclosure. "Please do not put your finger in the ferrets' cages," warned a sign. A woman, eyeing the creatures warily, asked if I knew anything about these animals.

Armed with my newly-acquired knowledge, I replied, "Actually, I do know quite a bit about ferrets." Then I was able to give her and the man standing next to her, a detailed account.

The man standing next to the woman smiled. 'Since you know a lot about them,' he said, opening one of the cage doors, 'you can hold one.' I had not realised he was the owner. He placed a lithe, sandy- coloured ferret in my hands. 'You'll know how to handle it, of course,' he said, casually. "He's a bit tetchy today because he doesn't like the heat and hasn't been fed yet, so just watch his teeth."

The image of Richard Whiteley suddenly came to mind.