Louise and the Moose

There are two animals that God clearly created on a bad hair day: the camel and the moose. 

            Moose are not native to Newfoundland, but this island now has 4 moose for every square mile of land and Tom and I were hoping to see some of them.   Unfortunately, despite spending a month here, we had not had a moose sighting.  That changed on our last night on the “Rock.” 

Moose were introduced to Newfoundland in 1904.  In that year four moose arrived safely from Nova Scotia.  They were “…in good health, had not missed a meal and played when they were let loose.”  The four beasts were released near Gros Morne National Park.  More moose were sent from time to time, but never more than a handful.

The moose didn’t need any help.  They looked around, saw a sub-arctic climate, rugged terrain with food and water aplenty and promptly started to multiply.  Surely there was one out there somewhere for us to see.

Our last night in Newfoundland Tom and I went to a Viking Feast dinner theater near L’Anse aux Meadows.  This is the place that Leif Erikson set up the first European settlement in North America 500 years before Columbus “discovered” the New World.  It was a purely tourist thing to do but Tom had been hiking me up one hill and down another for a month and I wanted something that qualified as fun.  It turns out that waiters dressed like Vikings was just the beginning.

It was late and dark when we started our drive home.  We had the high beams on and suddenly they illuminated a huge, bull moose trotting down the center line in front of us.  I reached for the camera in the backseat, sure he would be gone in a heart beat. 

No!  This moose was on that road for the long term.  Tom slowed to a crawl, the moose keeping pace some 50 feet ahead of us.  Tom was telling me, “Get the picture.  Get the picture.”  But I couldn’t get the camera to focus.  I handed the camera to him and said “I’ll steer, you get the picture.” 

That is when the trouble started.

With nothing to divert my attention except the steering wheel I was able to concentrate on what was there, indelibly before my eyes.  This was a magnificent male.  He had a full rack of antlers, still in velvet.  The legs were long, trotting in smooth rhythm.  Unfortunately, his size put the ass end of this animal directly in my line of vision.  And there they were: bouncing back and forth with every stride like two baseballs in a marble sack.  It was mesmerizing.  They acted like some kind of bulbous, herniated metronome: left-right-left-right. 

Tom was giving me instructions:  “Go left.  Go left.”  But I was helpless.  My mind had become soft as my focus had become sharp.  I had crossed into some parallel universe of testicular bobbling.  I was a woman incapable of rational thought.  I was following the bouncing ball.

Tom brought the car to a halt and our moose turned his huge head toward us with a baleful look that said “I’m giving you room to pass.  Go around, Idiot.  Go around.” 

I realized that I was giggling uncontrollably.  Tears rolled down my face as giggles turned to gales of laughter.  Tom looked at me as if to say “If only you laughed that much at my jokes.”  I, on the other hand, was looking at Tom and thinking “If only you had four legs.” 

Keep the faith, friends.  Keep the faith.