I spent most of last night hunting the evasive and potentially deadly wild moose in the land of the midnight sun.
Bucks was sleeping off another one of his catnip trips so I was alone, but fearless as always. The moose is a fairly easy animal to track once you pick up the scent which is something like horse poop, but different.
It was 3 a.m. with enough light to read newspaper headlines if you had a reason to read newspaper headlines, which I don’t.
I picked up the scent in a neighbor’s yard and stealthily slunk around the corner of the house. There he was, a giant with a rack like Jane Mansfield. Our eyes locked like two Swedish arm wrestlers. I shot a ten kilometer stare into his moosey eyes and was planning on jumping aboard to go for a wild west style ride, but he knew he had met his match and galloped off into the mist.