Just a note to say thanks to all that have sent info about ferret biting,
etc.  I will be thanking each one personally later this week when the
desktop is cured of a sudden illness in the system hardware (Know how
sickening it is to see a "sad mac" come up when your paper is due the next
morning?) I've been on the laptop, but for some reason, I can't get the
hang of windows...  :{
 
For those who missed it, I am tired of the endless characterization of
ferrets as being violent pets who bite and disfigure children.  I am
preparing a journal article about injuries caused by pets, and would
apprecate any clippings or information about ferret (or dog / cat / snake
/ horse etc) injuries, especally those in newspapers.  Any information is
appreciated.
 
By the way, the Devil That Wore Mink DID have five feet.  She was satanic,
remember?  Anyway, getting caught is such a boo boo (I'm blaming it on
Windows 95! PLEASE come home Mr. Mac!) is usually an excuse for telling
a story. (This normally has the longterm effect of encouraging people NOT to
point out my goofs... :} )
 
Bear is my buddy; he is a big brown shadow following my every move. He
sleeps on me, will take a raisin from my lips, and does not bite, even
when he gets his tail stepped on by a giant dummy. He doesn't like to
kiss, but puts his head under my chin to let me know he wants to be
scratched. I rescued him from a twenty-gallon aquarium holding about ten
other fuzzies; they were in a pet shop in a mall near Portland, Oregon,
and I couldn't resist his dark eyes.  Besides, he was the only one who
would play with me--the others just sniffed (I would have rescued them
all, but had limited funds. I did threaten the owner with legal action if
he did not improve the living conditions of the little beasties. I guess
my calm and collected demeanor convinced him :] ) I smuggled the little
guy into the room I had rented for the summer, and fixed him up a nice
little place next to my bed. That night he whined so badly that I took him
into the bed to sleep next to me. Oh yeah, that was smart. Bear was
teething at the time, and decided to trim each of my toenails. One each
hour, all night long.
 
So, I would doze, Bear would trim, I would yell, and Bear would dook it
out, usually right off the bed. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep
until I smarted-up and put on my shoes.  Needless to say, I overslept. I
woke up with about five minutes to get dressed and out to the street to
catch a ride into The Field (that's a scientific term.  One defines "The
Field" as the place where time is wasted and bodies are mosquito bit until
it is time to go drink beer and argue such philosophical issues as, "Did
we really see a fisher, or was it an alley cat?" and "I swear that mole
looks like a tick.  Are you sure it isn't moving?") I slid into my pants,
grabbed an apple and my toothbrush, tossed Bear in the porta-pet, snagged my
field kit, and out the door we flew. (When you're in The Field, you don't
care if your hair is combed or your face is shaved. Its a rule.)
 
I got to the pickup point just as the Suburbans were pulling up, and
jumped into my seat.  People just smiled, and everyone loved Bear, the
little rascal.  I dozed until we arrived at The Field, when the morning
ritual of asking a sleepy grad student to explain to the poor uneducated
undergrads some aspect of what we were doing fell on my broad shoulders.
I was fantastic.  They all laughed at my introductory joke, and giggled at
my puns. In fact, I had never seen so many smiling faces; at least, not
when the OTHER grad students talked. Even the grizzled old perfessor had a
grin on his face. I was stoked. I finished with a spectacular ending-pun
designed to make even the strong of heart wince in pain.
 
I walked away in triumph, and flashed a smile to the prof, who smiled
back. "YES!" I thought as I walked to the latrine area to freshen up
before The Field, which was pretty smart considering the height of the
stinging nettles where I was studying the advanced art of mosquito
baiting.  As I was washing my hands, I noticed, poorly reflected through
the frosted mirror, a strange mark on my cheek. It looked like a bruise.
I reached up, and pulled off A POOPIE! Bear had done his thing and
everyone knew it but me!  I was a marked man. It stunk that no one would
tell me.  I mean, I was the butt of everyone's jokes for the rest of the
summer. I could have beaten the crap out of them. Body parts would have
litered the ground. My reputation had just gone down the toilet. I was so
embarrassed, my face was flushed. I just had to go....
 
Bob
Moose, Stella, Daye, Tori, and Bear.
Bear says," You're so anal about this story. Let it drop..."
 
PS:  I'm not used to the OS on this machine, and haven't figured out the
editing commands for e-mail, so any booboos are not my fault. But I'll be
glad to tell another punny story if anyone finds one...;)
[Posted in FML issue 1367]