Hi FML!  This is Elizabeth, daughter of Bad Bob the Bone Head.  I'm
babysetting dad tonight, and am REALLY bored, so thought I would use dad's
machine to make some fun of him.  After deleting his mailbox I am sort of
nervous.  Dad refuses to admit it, but he's become a local wiz on the Mac,
and has stuff set up with F-keys, all with mysterious functions.  Of course,
even with them labeled, I goofed up.  Sorry.
 
Before I tattle, dad (and I) have been getting a lots of mail about how he
is doing.  Dad says he's doing really great, and the doctors said he's doing
better than most.  His white blood cells think that his skin and joints are
some sort of invaders, and are eating them.  It is really bad at places were
dad gets hurt.  So they have dad on some real nasty chemicals to kill the
white blood cells and they have really bad side effects.  Dads eyes can't
focus, and he has a really loud ringing in his ears.  He loses his balance
in the dark.  He has to use a cane sometimes because of the pain in his
hips.  But dad *never* complains about anything, even when they shoot stuff
into his joints twice a week.  He is finishing stuff at school, but only
goes when most people are gone so he won't catch colds or anything.  And he
*still* bicycles!  He bought electric socks and cut out the toe so they
would pull over his knees, and off he goes!  And he is planning to go rock
climbing in Yosemite next week!  I tell him he's silly, but he says life is
hard for everyone and the only true test of character is how you act when
times get tough.  Then he goes and does another 20 pullups.  I KNOW it
hurts.
 
Dad said I could write this because someone on the FML wrote me, telling me
that someone else was telling people dad had cancer.  Maybe that person
wears aluminum hats to bed or something, because the doctors told me that
dad has "Acute Autoimunity Disorder." I know because I am at risk because
its genetic and the doctors are looking at Andrew and me to find out if we
might get it.  Finding out has been hard because dad was adopted when he was
real little, and his biological parents are both dead.  Dad says the
condition is rare and they don't know if it is recessive or not and it would
help if he could find blood relatives.  But it is not cancer.  Please, don't
believe rumors about dad.  There are only two people on the FML who knows
about dad.  He is one and I am the other.
 
Ok, NOW the tattle.  Dad has two rooms blocked off from the ferrets, the
kitchen and his book room.  He used a router to carve a slot in the door
jam, filled the slot with magnets and then glued a thin strip of wood over
the slot.  He sanded the jam, then stained and varnished it and no one can
tell what he did.  Then he took a piece of masonite and attached a small
piece of wood to each side.  He put magnets on the wood, and the barrier
just sticks to the door jam.  Its strong enough from the magnets so the
ferrets can't move it, but its easy to take down and nothing makes the door
jam look ugly.  On the top of the masonite is a plastic rod that turns when
a ferret jumps on it.
 
Dad had to make taller barriers because Carbone and Jet can get over the old
ones.  Dad found Carbone pushing books off his shelf, and jet was getting
under the sink.  So he made new ones after doing top secret science
experiments to find out how far they could jump.  The trouble is, dad's hips
hurt, so he can't lift them very well sometimes.  Still, instead of moving
the barrier, walking through, then putting it back, he insists on stepping
over it.  Earlier this week, dad was stepping over the barrier when his hip
sort of got stuck and he couldn't get his leg over.  So he was straddling
the barrier with a leg on each side, looking quite silly.  I was over to
wash clothes and sponge some free dinner off the old man, so he called me to
give him a hand.
 
When I got there, dad had about 10 ferrets in his arms, hanging on his back,
perched on his shoulders and Jet was on top of his head.  He was grinning
like a little boy with a brand new wagon, and asked if I wouldn't mind going
around and taking some ferrets off his hands.  So I went around and put Jet
on the floor, and started taking the others when I found Jet on dad's
shoulder.  I put her down again and took the last few ferrets and found Jet
once again on dad's shoulder.  So I told dad to stop fooling around and I
put Jet back on the floor, and watched her run up the leg of dad's jeans,
climb the back of his t-shirt and land on his shoulder in about 3 seconds
flat.
 
Then other ferrets were also climbing up dad's leg, and all he could do was
stand there and laugh.  Dad says they watched Jet and copied her trick.  Now
about half the ferrets lay so they can watch the top of the barrier for a
foot to come over, then they run over for a climb.  They don't know how to
get on dad's shoulder like Jet does, but dad says it a matter of time before
he has to switch to wearing hip boots.  Dad says when he can see better he
will cut their nails.
 
The ferrets really love dad.  They run out when they hear his voice and
follow him all over the room.  If he falls asleep on the futon, I know I can
always find five or six curled up around him.  Stella loves to sleep under
his shirt, and Carbone has been sleeping near his bottom.  I've warned him
how dangerous THAT can be, but Carbone won't listen.  Carbone has been
growing again and eats like there is no tomorrow.  His fur is almost jet
black, so when he lays over the food dish, and snarfs and growls and slurps,
dad calls him the Black Hole.  Dad also calls him Car sometimes because he
is starting to become a grown up ferret but only half of his equipment has
shown up.  Dad says he refuses to make him part with his company until both
parties show themselves in full.  Jet knows her name, and when dad calls
her, she will SPRINT over and jump in his hands.  Dad says she is Jet
propelled.
 
Elizabeth, chief pooper picker upper and eyes of Bad Bob
[Posted in FML issue 2133]