Progression through the country year here is not marked by numbers on paper or buzzing phone notifications, but by the burning chill of a first frost in the nostrils, the scent of southern climes on our native breeze or, sometimes, a barely perceptible squeal emanating from my shed. I heard the plaintive mewing in early May this year and knew immediately that the first of my ferrets had given birth, and that summer had begun.
Understanding a little about breeding ferrets begins with some terminology. Females are jills and males are hobs, though my Traveller friends would insist on bitches and dogs and generally refer to ferrets as pugs, just to add to the confusion. The collective noun is a business, though expect contemptuous glances from any serious ferret fancier for trying to use it.
