4 posts tagged “moose”

I can say, without a droplet of doubt, that were I reincarnated as an animal, it wouldn’t be as a domesticated one.

Not even one with a fantastic life with one forever, loving human companion.

Neither would I be a wild animal roaming Earth on hoof or paw.

No, there are only two options:

here, a creature in the depths of Lake Baikal.

It's the world’s oldest, deepest and largest freshwater lake: 25-30 million years, 636 km in length, 25-80 km in width, 1,637 meters at greatest depth (central basin) and accounts for 20 percent of the world’s surface freshwater.

The Discovery (or Travel?) Channel aired a segment on it that was riveting. Creatures and flora live in those rare depths that exist nowhere else. Lake Baikal is its own world, a universe as untouched, untainted, unseen and undisturbed by human presence as Earth offers. Hence I could be a land-based watery creature there and nowhere else.

Then I look at Moose, the traveling troubadour Zen samurai, and how when he’s out, he is O-U-T and think that for a domesticated animal, he’s got it pretty damn good:

p.s. To my hed I add digital camera - sick 'n' tired of lousy phone pics!

Sometimes love and cuteness win out over the budget.

Sometimes ya gotta splurge and eat the buck it costs to transmit a pic from cell phone to laptop. Life would be more enjoyable with a digital camera (and a job). Apologies for the lousy quality and framing (I had to be quick). Please direct any complaints to Motorola.

Here's Moosie Man, as I affectionately call him, rising from the dead:

August, and specifically the middle, is proving to be a watershed of momentous or life-changing events.

It was in August three years ago that I fled the desert for the cool and wet Pacific Northwest.

It was in August one year ago that I moved from the house with the nazi queen to my own space again, ending not only a terrible situation but years of (less than positive) shared living.

It was also in August one year ago, a week after that move in fact, that I lost my job with the property management company that I loved.

Now it is August and my year of unemployment benefits is ended.

Which places me in the precarious position of no job and no income.

Today I go to the unemployment office to file for new benefits; applications are reviewed and decided on a case-by-case basis.

Time after time when I’ve been there taking care of matters, I’ve been offered this helpful advice: “Don’t do it on Monday. They’re slammed at the telecenter. It’s their busiest day. Wait till Wednesday if you can.”

Since I have zero money coming in, Wednesday is light years away. So I’ll be going down with a couple newspapers, including the Sunday paper, which isn’t nearly as thick as Sunday editions used to be, and a book to pass the time on hold.

August will also be remembered as the month I made the decision to let Tacoma go.

This is a decision reached after long thought and contemplation. It’s hard and mournful to even write those words for the love I have for this town that I also embrace as my adopted hometown. But there. It is said and written because it can be written now. There’s no muting the glare of realities. It’s coming time to go.

Strangely, I’ve nothing more to say. Except that there are certain creatures I will miss very much. Including this guy, who happened by this morning and just jumped up; it’s not often he sits on my desk.

So yesterday I’m sittin’ outside the building in my armless lime-green camping chair with my laptop mindin’ my own business when up the road comes a trotting Moose, something dangling from his mouth.

Since Moose is an alpha cat and I’ve witnessed his hunting instinct before, I can only suspect it’s not good for whatever’s between his teeth.

He struts nearby and I spot his victim, a baby bird, clinging to life, its beak slowly opening and shutting. I take the path of non-interference and let nature run its course.

Moose deposits his prey on the ground and begins to do something I’ve seen him do only once before, with a lizard. He begins batting the bird about, then takes hold of its legs between his teeth and starts flinging it into the air. It turns, flips, lands, then he does it again, over and over, tossing always from the feet for a good spin. It’s a whole other side of Moose, an evil side.

Eventually he loses interest and leaves the bird behind. What I mean to say is, he leaves the bird behind for me to take care of. Isn’t that the way with cats - they have the fun and leave you with the dirty work?

So I draw the slotted spoon from the kitchen, dig a bed into the earth beside a rose bush and gently lay the baby bird to rest.

I flash to the time I found a large pigeon, dead, alongside one of the properties at my last job. Feathers strewn everywhere and nearby was a window and behind it a cat so suspected the culprint.

Ever the highly curious cat, Moose makes his way over to check out what I’m doing or possibly to reclaim his prize (he won’t) or pay his last respects.

About an hour later, his owner, Paul, and I cross paths. I tell him about the bird and the evil Moose. I know from a prior encounter that Moose often brings home a capture, leaving it on the bedroom floor for Paul, blood and feathers spread here and there.

“That must be kinda gross for you,” I say.

“It is. Especially when it’s dark and I step into it and go ewwwwwwwwww ...”

I shoot a condemning glance Moose’s way. Okay I don’t. But neither Paul nor I are overly thrilled with the outcomes of his instinctual drive.

I tell Paul that I chase Moose off when I see him honing in on the birds gathered for the seed I provide daily. "We can't control his drive or every action but it ain't gonna happen on my watch," I tell Paul, nodding his agreement.

“He’s a real character,” we agree - as does the entire neighborhood familiar with this Zen samurai creature. Moose gets around. He’s rather personable while also very independent. He greets passersby with ease. Some people he likes, some he doesn't. I once saw him stand back from one resident.

He wanders - far. Once I bumped into him in the park across the street, about three blocks down from his house. Acting totally casssh, like la de da, the world is my oyster.

Paul told me he’s had to bail Moose out from the shelter more than a few times - and it's expensive - because he’s so friendly and sometimes far from home and people think he's lost and take him. Now he's got a name tag with address so hopefully they'll get the hint that he's fine where and as he is.

“Moose, he’s not too playful is he?” I say. Paul concurs. “The most playful I’ve seen him is battin’ a wadded ball of paper or the cord on the blinds a few times.”

“But he loooooves catnip,” Paul offers. “Loves it. Rolls in it. Eats it.”

I can picture that.

“He’s so like a dog,” Paul comments.

“Yes!! He soo is!!!!” I’ve had that very thought so many times! I’m sure that's a huge reason why we get along and connect as we do. I love animals but I'm not a cat person, as many know. He's got cat characteristics but inside thinks he’s a dog.

“So Moose, he’s a real nutcase sometimes,” I continue. “He'll start running all over the apartment, back and forth back, like a maniac, like he’s possessed.”

“That’s how he got his name," shares Paul.

“Whaddya mean?”

Insert: Paul has a giant apartment - about six times the size of mine.

“Before I put the cat door in, he’d be in there with no way out. And he’d run up and down the apartment, one end to the other, really fast, back and forth. Will, the neighbor below, said it sounded like moose.”

Voila. Moose. He’s a character.