Once again, I complain to Dick about never seeing any moose.
We are on our way home from Lac des Mille Lac, on the 20-mile rough road connecting Lac with Highway 11. It’s a remote place with its share of wildlife, and Dick has sighted several moose along this route, but I have never been that lucky.
Deciding to relax and enjoy the ride, I stop grumbling and check out the scenery. We pass by a swampy area where a meandering creek attracted crowds of eagles last spring with spawning fish. Today, the bog grasses shine with the yellow of autumn.
We continue on our way as my thoughts drift when, suddenly, there she is! A huge cow moose runs onto the road in front of us. One moment she isn’t there. The next instant she is.
I can’t contain my excitement, and Magoo the pug catches my mood, leaps from my lap and tries to give chase through the pick-up front window. Dick grabs for his camera (I’ve forgotten mine again) and takes a picture while continuing to steer as the moose cow obligingly lopes ahead of us. Abby, the lab mix, watches intently from the back seat.
The moose is a beautiful brown giant of a specimen, a big babe, and fun to watch. Dick manages to get several photos, and Magoo growls and snarls while Abby watches the brown creature with rapt eyes. But sooner or later everything ends, especially wild animal sightings.
As quickly as The Big Babe popped into our lives, she exits, disappearing into the underbrush. Not a sign remains as if she just melted into the trees and rocks. Excited and pleased, I gloat at my good luck, and Dick and I discuss her size and healthy appearance.
But the excitement has just begun. Not a hundred yards from the spot where our lady moose vanished, a hunter wearing blaze orange and carrying a rifle, walks along the road. “Omigosh!”
I clap my hands over my mouth, remembering the Canadian moose hunting season opened this weekend. “What’s going to happen to our moose?”
Dick thinks she should be okay. I hope so. She was moving at a good speed. I’m not anti-hunting or anti-gun, but this was the first moose I’ve seen in five years, and moose are becoming scarce. Besides I have formed an attachment to her.
As we pass the hunter, we slow down, smile and wave. The hunter waves back cheerily and continues down the road—in the opposite direction of the moose! Score!
Our big moose babe probably is safe. What would this guy think if he knew a moose had been on the road a hundred yards back?
We drive on and soon another hunter approaches in a UTV. We wave. He waves, and he continues down the road.
I’m alarmed again. The four-wheeler is capable of carrying the hunters far and fast. Maybe my poor moose friend really is in trouble.
A four-wheeler may be a fast machine, but it doesn’t help to go in the wrong direction, and this one did. A few minutes later, it passes us carrying both hunters, as they zip down the road in the opposite direction of the moose.
I like to think that the big cow took off far into the bush and is staying there until hunting season ends.
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