Moose Chronicles

Albert here.  We pulled into Fairbanks recently, and our crate stinks of wet cheetohs and fried electronics.  Camille was supposed to update us on the family's whereabouts, and you see how that worked out.  We got nuthin!  She was a lousy operative and typical of Grace's doll clan -- completely unreliable.  Ludendorff has lost his mind and has been in his corner of the crate singing one line from Johnny Horton's "North to Alaska" for days on end.  "North to Alaska, we go north, the rush is on!  NORTH to AK, we GO NORTH, the rush is on!"  Locke tries to begin the actual song, "Big Sam left Seattle...."  But, Ludendorff just continues in a loop.  UNFORTUNATELY, we haven't found his plug, any duct tape, or Benadryl.  

FORTUNATELY, however, we did find a copy of the Moose Chronicles.  As our semi-truck cruised out of Anchorage and onto the highway to Fairbanks, Locke stuck his paw out of the crate to feel the temperature and commented, "Yep, Albert, you are a wise ol' boy to have......wait, what have we here?"  I beckoned Locke to finish.  He's more apt to call me an idiot.  "Ok chum, carry on.  Why was I so wise?"  "Albert, there's some kind of paper flapping on the side of the crate!  It's new.  It's not the packing slip."  I beseeched him, "Locke, do not remove the packing slip.  Otherwise, they might ship us back to Portland, Chicago, or some other place where we have absolutely no chance.  We'd get shot, point blank.  DO not rip off the packing slip."  "Simmer down, Albert!  It ain't the packing slip.  It's something else.  I'm reeling it in!"  

We looked at it and realized it was some third-rate one-page circular or publication, the kind that's dropped off at some hole-in-the wall restaurant, the kind that sits next to the door on some crooked rack near all the local real estate pamphlets.  It's one step to the side of a realtor's publication.  Moose Chronicles.  Moose Chronicles?  What the heck?  But, seeing as how we had nothing else to read in our dumpy crate, Locke and I ripped open our last bag of cheetohs and began reading the first article:

"Hero Moose Mama Pranks Arctic Villains"

Submitted by Mrs. Willa M Mooskeg

It was a a lovely afternoon.  My young daughter and I had wandered to one of our favorite bogs, a quiet swampy spot alongside a gravel road.  The sun was shining, but we had some shade.  We indulged ourselves on the luscious aquatic plants, my dearest calf learning to select the most scrumptious morsels.  Alas, the local mosquito vermin found us, and normally, I am quite tolerant of their antics.  As I studied these swarming creeps, I was startled to see a human jog by on the dirt road.  We were so near to her, and my heart was vibrating all four compartments of my stomach.  The human stopped and began taking photos of our bog.  My calf had noticed but behaved perfectly.  She remained quite still, ignoring the pesky mosquitoes that continued targeting her ears.  

The human ran on, and my blood pressure lowered.  I studied the human.   She was female.  Her behavior was extraordinary.  Why on earth would you marvel at a bog?  Gosh, what spindly bare legs?  Why wouldn't she cover those up with some fur when wandering around these marshy parts?  The mosquitoes would....  It dawned on me that this was a real cheechako....not an ounce of sourdough running in those veins.  This human had wandered from FAR away.  She had significant covering on her torso, an extra layer.  Any native would not need that much insulation in summer!  She was not accustomed to these cooler temperatures!  I shook my head.  Blasted mosquitoes.  Wait a minute..... Why aren't the mosquitoes feasting on those bare legs?  The human was a moving target, and these lazy scoundrels would rather savor my sweet calf.   

The human turned around at the distant bridge and was now coming back this direction.  She was a newbie.  She was either too much a coward to go beyond the bridge or ignorant of the fact that the road was a loop.  Stupid mosquitoes.  You vile, nasty, blood-sucking witches, I will....  Ha, I know what we will do.  I whispered a plan to my calf. 

The human neared, and right on cue, my dearest calf shook her head and twitched her floppy, beautiful ears.  The biped halted.  Her eyes studied the area, focusing on my calf.   The eyes then darted to the other side of the road.  She surveyed her surroundings, likely looking for me, the mother.  She must have realized it was a mere calf.  Ok, so this human wasn't quite as brainless as I had assumed.  She knew to look out for the mother.  Perhaps, this human was also a mother, and for a moment, the possibility of a shared maternal intuition evoked some empathy.  I pulled my head up from the bog, revealing that I was near my calf.  

The human immediately ran several paces back towards the bridge.  She signaled and yelled to some fellow humans at the other end of the road, "Yakk yak yak yak...yak yak yak....MOOSE...yak!"  All was going according to plan.  The fellow humans stopped and leashed their dog.    

At this, I sauntered with my calf out of the bog and onto the road.  It had begun to rain, and as we moved, the mosquitoes were less annoying.  But, the little extortioners had discovered the human.  The target had stopped.  They relentlessly dive-bombed her with such voracity.  I chuckled.  Those gormandizers are in for a real treat!  My calf and I stood for a while on the road, watching as the human danced around in the rain, swatting at the swarms of mosquitoes feasting on her legs, ears, arms, and face.  

Once I thought the mosquitoes had had enough torment, I motioned to my calf that we could move on into the trees, release the human, and listen to the insect chatter.  We concealed ourselves and watched as the human cautiously proceeded down the road.  

We tuned our ears into the mosquito frequency, and then, we heard it.  There was sputtering, coughing, choking, shrieking, proboscis-pulling, and wing slapping.    "Diet-blood!!!  Bleh."  "Doris, what were you thinking?  2%."  "Now, Nancy, you know that couldn't have been 2%.  That was skim or worse!"  "What a waste of time!"  "We would have gotten a better meal sucking bog water!"  "My proboscis will rust!  She was a desert sapien!"

My dear calf and I snickered in the trees and watched the rain fall in the bog. 

After reading this article, I turned to Locke, "Hey, we know some desert sapiens up here!  Think it was Jack's mom?  Gosh, Locke, do you think my salmon diet worked?  DO you think I'll be used and abused as some prop in a forest prank?"  Locke replied, "Don't be ridiculous!"