Moose missives
Every now and then there might be room for an anecdote, say one that offers insight into just what appropriate behavior might be while camping — maybe with ramifications toward life in a broader sense. Even “Dangerous” Bob, the man of words, the guy who knows Wright from wrong, would agree with this one.
We were tucked in our sleeping bags there in our teepee when in the distance we heard the barking of a dog. With a quick look about, it became glaringly obvious our own mutt, Yucca, was not snug up against one of the kids. It seemed she had stepped out to test the morning air and relieve herself. Keep in mind this was not the sharpest dog in the world or even our teepee, even though she was the only one, and notably, she didn’t generally have the skill to bark. Apparently after her early constitutional, she gazed about because after all it was Spring and most of the mega fauna in Yellowstone was still in the lower country around our temporary home on Pebble Creek.
Apparently the faithful and very loveable but dull-witted mutt felt she needed to know what was lurking out there so she, in all her backwoods glory, could protect us from diamondback rattlers, large grasshoppers, and massive silver back grizzlies.
Most notable in the area were the presence of moose who were still grazing on the lowland willows to the west of us. Keeping in mind that the previous evening the campers next to us had related a story how their ankle-biting Chihuahua, for reasons defying nature, had chased a damn 1,500-pound antlered behemoth in what appeared to be a protective gesture. It is possible the “adorable” canine wasn’t really chasing it but rather just doing an out-and-out general harassment. The moose, normally of a passive demeanor, while under such abuse, decided he had had enough of the dirt-for-brains dog. The monster-of-the-slough made a move toward the festering little yapper. Well, the dog quickly had an epiphany and split for the camp to hide under the vehicle where the disgruntled moose could not go. Damn, the heavy-jawed package of rolling thunder followed with impressive speed, reached the truck, and rather than trying to go under it jumped over the hood and, in the process, dragged a hoof and took out the windshield.
This fireside story rattled my night-ridden brain. With a touch of apprehension, I lifted the edge of the staked teepee to confirm the source of the barking. For the love of God and all that is reasonable, Yucca was having a verbal confrontation with a still casual and cud-chewing moose, possibly the same one the ankle biter had so agitated.
Do I call the dog? Maybe the beast will simply stomp the immensely stupid, but immensely loved hound? I whispered, “Yucca you stupid moron. Get over here, please, get over here.” She hesitated but stayed. The monster turned his head slowly to evaluate the annoyance but kept chewing the mouthful of grass as if he thought there were serious things in life and just maybe this wannabe wolf was not one.
At this point, I didn’t set off any alarms but slipped out the door of our lodge and stood there half naked, looking meek and probably not like a proud warrior of the plains. “Yucca, get over here now!”
The dog heard me and after allowing for the synapses of her pea-sized brain to spark, she looked once more at the moose and then back to me. In great introspection, she trotted back seemingly unmoved by the episode.
Apparently the moose was either too hungry or simply thought the dog an idiot or had possibly seen me, standing out there half naked, as being a true noble warrior. The brute ambled off possibly disgusted, maybe disgruntled, or just realizing it was all a waste of time and things would pass.
On this glorious morning in November, I suspect I’m seeing myself more like the moose and would like to amble off, maybe agitated and tired of the harassment, but still aware that there might be a time and place to not only chase the noisy little barkers but even the stupid hair-brained disrupters of a peaceful life.
Left to right: Yucca and Tanya