State Ferret Ban Is Pet Peeve of Outlaw Owners

You don’t call R. St. George directly.

If you want to meet with him, you go to the cashier at Big Al’s Pet Food Warehouse in Simi Valley and ask for The List.

“The List,” you whisper. “You know--the ferret list.”

Leave your number. R. will be in touch.

R. ordinarily uses his first name. But when you’re a ferret owner in California, you take precautions.

In 1935, the state did to ferrets just what the NRA fears it will do to guns; it pried them from their owners’ needy, warm hands.

In California, only outlaws own these elegant little raccoon-masked cousins to the weasel and the skunk. In 48 other states, you can take a long run on the beach with your ferret, or curl up in a city park with it, or leash it to a lamppost while you duck into an intimate cafe for a smoky rendezvous.

But in California, smoky cafes have been banned for health reasons and ferrets are cuddly contraband that can fetch you a $1,000 fine.

R. would change that.

“I go to Vegas and I see showgirls walking around with their ferrets in specially built purses,” says R., a 70-year-old computer accessories salesman. “I wish I had that freedom. I wish I could take my ferrets out. They should be treated just like any other pet, like a cat or a dog.”

The owner of Brenda, Anthony and the recently departed Alistair, he is forming the Ventura County chapter of a statewide organization called Ferrets Anonymous, recruiting members from the list he placed at Big Al’s. Each year, the group lobbies the Legislature for repeal of what seems to be a senseless law; each year, it loses, but barely.

“Idiots in Sacramento,” R. grumbles. “When it comes to ferrets, they just don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Ferret owners like R. insist that their pets have gotten a bum rap.

About the size of large kittens, ferrets do zany little dances when their owners get home, roll over for treats, race around like deflating balloons, use a litter box and nap most of the time. Their only vice is thievery.

“As soon as your sock hits the floor, it’s gone,” R. says. “They lay in wait.”

Yes, ferrets can bite--but so do poodles.

And no, they won’t attack other animals, ferret people insist. Ferrets were banished from the state at the behest of fearful chicken farmers, but over the decades, aggression has been virtually bred out of the household ferret, they say.

“If your ferret gets loose, it can live maybe four days outdoors,” R. claims.

“Ferrets have been known to die of thirst six feet from a lake; the water’s not in a bowl.”

The state does not view the domestic ferret as either lovable or helpless.

“Ferrets attack and kill birds,” says Troy Swauger, a spokesman for the state Department of Fish and Game.

“They’re an invasive species. The ferret people say just a few aren’t going to decimate a whole species of birds, but it’s the environmental chain that gets affected. It may not have an effect today, but we’re dealing with the next decade, the next century.”

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As for claims that other states’ ecosystems are getting along just fine with an occasional ferret on the loose, Swauger was skeptical: “There probably are problems in those states, but legislatures have decided not to address them.”

In truth, California hasn’t been terribly aggressive in enforcing the ferret law, especially considering the official depiction of ferrets as baby-mauling aliens. In the big pet stores, you can find ferret toys, ferret treats, ferret feed, ferret laxatives, ferret cages, a ferret “peek-a-boo playground,” even a ferret hammock--all in open view. where even children can see them.

Many of the 30 or so ferret owners who have been contacted by R. are wary when he calls, fearing they might be victims of a sting. But R. figures that state wildlife officials have bigger fish to fry. “It’s not like Fish and Game will burst through your door,” he says.

Years ago, though, he was so nervous he didn’t want to tell neighborhood kids the real name of the friendly little critter they were petting and poking in his backyard.

“Well, it’s called a grass shark,” he said.

“Wow, it’s a beautiful animal,” one of the boys said. “And it looks just like a ferret.”

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Steve Chawkins can be reached at 653-7561 or at steve.chawkins@latimes.com