Moose Misery

There is a moose outside my window at 5 am every morning. I named her Bridget. I know she’s there because the dogs start an off-key howling choir that can wake up any dormant bear in the vicinity. Bridget comes around and samples the brush, which apparently is more tasty than any other in the area because she stays, despite howling dogs and our feeble attempts to chase her away by throwing pebbles at her. Bridget stands firm. She weighs about a thousand pounds. Sometimes she’ll look at us and grunt loudly, sometimes she’ll charge towards her, but no times will she leave. We have good grass, what can I say. It’s a problem, though, as nice as you want to be to the locals, especially Bridget, she is, after all, a wild animal. Bridget is a mother, in theory, and with that comes the instinct to protect. In Bridget’s mind the dogs are actually wolves, and we are all there to kill her and her non-existent calf, therefore we deserve to be attacked with all the force her thousand pound body and flailing legs can muster. This makes her a dangerous animal when we run the dogs at 6 am. Which in turn makes her unwanted around our house, which is why we pebble her with gravel. But come September 1st we’ll bring out the big guns, and then Bridget will have to find other grazing grounds.