As a relatively seasoned wildlife rehabilitator and a life long amateur naturalist, I have always understood that the laws and forces of nature follow specific guidelines with reason or purpose. Seasons change, cycles occur, nature evolves, and the food chain is merely a part of an interdependent relationship for survival of all species. However, I have a strange little twist to interject at this point. In May of this year, I received two newborn short tailed weasels. When they arrived they were just under two inches long, barely had any fur, and their eyes and ears were still closed. In the past, I had reared both mink and weasels, but none were so small. These were dehydrated, hypothermic, and seemed near death.

Although I questioned the possibility of success, I resolved to do my best for them. The siblings were immediately warmed and rehydrated with Lactated Ringers Solution. I began a feeding regiment of every two hours around the clock which lasted for the next several weeks. Standard pet nursing nipples and specialized cattack rehab nipples were much too large to use. I affixed an I.V. tube from a butterfly needle to a 1 c.c. syringe that slowly delivered one drop of formula at a time until each baby consumed an initial quantity of a whopping ¼ c.c.

As the weeks dragged by and my level of sleep deprivation grew, so did the size and weight of the two little weasels. Unlike most other mammals, baby weasels and mink develop teeth even before their eyes open. Their mother brings them meat to begin weaning early. To copy this, I began their weaning process at about four weeks of age. At week five, their eyes opened. The transition from formula to semi-solid baby food, and then to minced muscle meats went smoothly. It was soon time to introduce dead mice. Once again, another smooth dietary transition occurred. By now the weasels had grown to become cute, little monsters with a nasty disposition. They appeared to be natural killers that squealed, spat, and attacked any living thing in proximity of their outdoor compound. Because weasels are carnivores, in the wild they must hunt and kill to survive. This meant that I had to introduce live mice prior to release, to confirm their ability to survive.

The time had arrived when I had to face this most unpleasant task. I held back a night of feeding to guarantee hunger. The next evening I presented them with a mouse, apologizing to the sacrifice, and promptly leaving the area feeling like an executioner. Unable to locate any mouse remains on my return, I introduced a second mouse. In the morning I saw no evidence of mouse or weasel and became concerned. I had no choice but to cautiously lift the roof of their tiny den box. Inside I noticed a lump moving under the weasels tiny blanket. As I carefully lifted one corner of the blanket I unraveled the mystery. For those of you that are squeamish, fear not. I was staring down at the two weasels, who were staring up at me with sleepy faces, as did their two room mates, the mice. All four were huddled together, looking up at me as if to say, "DO YOU MIND?" Talk about strange bedfellows!

I remember my parents telling me not to play with my food. I guess their mom never had a chance to instruct them not to sleep with theirs. So much for mother nature and her fabulous food chain. I knew these weasels were not imprinted. I also knew that they were not friendly. I could only assume that these guys were a bit too young yet for the ultimate deed, and I would have to go back one feeding step. The problem now would be to retrieve their new pals without getting bitten. What would happen if I left the mice in there any longer? Would they teach the weasels to eat seeds? I didn't want weasels growing up chumming around with mice, voles and moles.

 After much patience and effort, I was able to separate the buddies. In the future, another attempt at introducing live mice will have to be planned, but then it will be different mice. I think these mice earned the right not to end up as weasel delicacy.

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