Tuesday, September 4, 2012
One morning the guy across the street came racing over asking me if I saw it.
"Saw what?" I said.
"That moose, with that big rack, walked right up the road in front of your house. What a bull!" He replied.
"Noooo, are you kidding me? I missed it." I said.
I've seen quite a few on my trips to the North Maine Woods, but never one down here, in the real world. Well, let me take that back. One grazed off my front bumper once over on Running Hill Road. It was twilight, and I saw his eyes and braked. I don't want to make an acquaintance at night while driving fast though, say on the Maine Turnpike. The moose wins that confrontation every time. They are huge. They end up in the front seat, guts and all, and the driver usually at a local funeral parlor. The percentages are against humans in that meeting. Just Saturday night a motorcyclist met one just after passing over the Canadian boarder. Result? Not pretty!
And I bet you thought I was going to be dreaming about motorcycles today.