I survived my encounter with the moose. That the good news. The bad news is that the children have found out about it and are now all hysterical.

“Da-ah-ahd, you promised us we would see a moose.” Michael.
“Mo-ah-ahm, how come you didn’t get us?” lsabel.
“We’ll never see one now.” Sarah.
“It’s OK. You’re going to see a moose. I promise.”
“That’s what you said yesterday!” Michael.
“When?” Sarah.
“Yeah, Dad, when?” Isabel.
“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow has arrived. It’s early in the morning. Michael, my roommate at the hotel, has bounded out of bed.

“Dad, dad, wake up. When are we going to see the moose?”
“Later.”
“What time?”
“I don’t know what time.”
“Lunchtime?”
“After lunch.”
“Dinner?”
“After dinner.”
“Dad, after dinner it’s dark.”
“I meant before dinner.”
“What time before dinner?”
“Six.”
“Six PM?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Before dinner. Six PM. I’m going to tell the girls.”

Six PM comes. We drive up to Highlands. Maggie, the young beer cart lady, sees me, waves.
“How’s Carl?” she asks.
“Fine. I mean, last time I saw him, he was fine.”
“He got in a bit of trouble after you left.”
“He did?” Why am I not surprised?
“Oh yeah. He was chasing a bull moose with his golf cart. A big bull moose.”
“And what happened?”
“The moose turned on him.” Yikes. “And he drove the cart into a bunker.”
“No.”
“Oh yeah. He didn’t look too happy either. Thought he might’ve broken a rib.”
“Ouch.”
“What happened to the moose.”
“He trotted up to the bunker edge, then walked away. They don’t like bunkers.”
“Have you seen any today?”
“Oh my, yes. Just saw a mother and calf on the 16th hole.”
“Really!?” Isabel.
“Dad, dad, let’s go.” Michael. “Where’s the 16th hole?”
“I know where the 16th hole is, son.” Then, to Maggie, “Is it safe? I mean, for the kids.”
“Oh, sure it is.” Then, Maggie to the children, “As long as you keep your distance. It’s a mother and calf, and the mother is very protective of her calf. Okay?”
“Okay.” Isabel.
“Got it.” Michael.
“We’ll keep our distance.” Sarah.

The kids all hop into the Durango. Their excitement, palpable. We park near the 17th tee, walk through the woods to the 16th green. In the distance stands a foursome in the middle of the fairway. One of the men motions to us, points in the direction of the woods adjacent to the second fairway. We look over there, and, sure enough, see a mother moose and calf.
“Dad! Look! A moose!” Michael, in a whisper.
“Oh my gosh!” Isabel, “Look at the baby!” Also in a whisper.
“Don’t get too close.” Sarah, as exicted as the others, exercising appropriate caution.

I take out my camera, which I finally remembered to bring along, and snap a picture of the calf standing on the cartpath, nibbling on a shrub.

“Did you get it?” Isabel.
“I think so.”
“Will you put it on the blog?” Michael.
“I’ll put it on the blog.”
“Put it right at the top, Dad.”
“I will, son.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”

Moose hunt, a success. Children, happy. Life, good.