Moose. Now, it never occurred to me that this little fellow of only 250 pounds was still a suckling, and that Momma Moose probably wasn’t gonna take too lightly to me rodeoing her little man. I ain’t gonna lie to you here: I was so scared I didn’t know whether to run or go ahead and say my last prayers—’cause the only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth, and I was pretty well getting ready to get buried.
Then my adrenaline took over. I jumped up like CarlLewis at the Olympics and headed for the truck with this 1,000-pound behemoth dead on my tail. I knew she was doing all that moaning, but all I could hear just then was my mind screaming,
Run! Run! Ruuunn!
I was outta there like a bolt of greased lightning, and I’m not ashamed to admit I was screaming at the top of my lungs for my pops—begging forgiveness (which always beats begging for permission); I knew he’d be mad, but he’d know what to do. I saw the truck just up ahead and took a quick look back. Momma Moose was all over my rear end like a termite at a sawdust plant. I dove like Barry Bonds on a Randy Johnson fastball—right through the open window of that truck!
When I hit the seat, I thought it was my momentum that made that thing rock like a cradle going over Niagara Falls; but when I looked out the window, I noticed Momma Moose had rammed the door and pushed it in a good foot. I was screaming—and she was backing up for another go at the door. I knew right then why my momma always told me to wear clean underwear. And just as that moose started up again, I heard a pistol going off:
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The guide and Pops were screaming and snorting like cracked-out pigs in a rutting contest. The moose must’ve understood every word they were saying, though, ’cause she started backing off until they finally got between the truck and her.
Pops got in the passenger seat while I scrambled to the backseat. The guide climbed in the driver’s door and fired that puppy up. But that moose started right in again at the front of the truck! You’d have thought we were two bulls fighting over a hot cow. The guide slammed that truck in reverse and started slowly backing up. I couldn’t believe it. “What are you doing? Run over that crazy thing!”
He said, “Buddy, you got a better chance of finding a diamond in a billy goat’s butt than going head-to-head with her. This here’s a territorial issue and we have to let her win.”
So after about fifty yards, she stopped, and with the little calf in tow, turned to head back into the woods. Just before they entered, they both looked back at the same time, and I swear they were staring right at me. ’Course, there was no way I was getting back outta that truck.
The guide and Pops were beside themselves laughing when I told them about me and the baby moose. I figured they would be mad that I got the door bashed in on the truck; but the guide said, “Son, anyone who’d do something that dumb has to catch a break every now and then—so we’ll let insurance handle it.”
Needless to say, I still went hunting—and I took two bears with my bow. I didn’t worry about bears again that week. But every time I heard a limb crack, I was on high moose alert. I just knew that Momma Moose was out there waiting for me.
When we got back home it was late at night, and Momma asked me to tell her about our trip. Pops just smiled when I said, “Momma, the only thing I’m gonna tell you is I learned a valuable lesson: Don’t never mess with nuthin’ that ain’t messin’ with you.” And with that, I went on to bed.
[Threats]
1. I’ll beat the brakes off of you .
2. I’ll beat you so bad, you’ll think you were ate by a lion and crapped off a cliff .
3. I’ll slap you so hard, you’ll starve to death before you quit sliding .
4. I’ll stomp a mud hole in your tail and then walk it dry .
5. I’ll be on you like a duck on a June bug .
6. I’ll be on you like a sewing machine needle:
Then my adrenaline took over. I jumped up like CarlLewis at the Olympics and headed for the truck with this 1,000-pound behemoth dead on my tail. I knew she was doing all that moaning, but all I could hear just then was my mind screaming,
Run! Run! Ruuunn!
I was outta there like a bolt of greased lightning, and I’m not ashamed to admit I was screaming at the top of my lungs for my pops—begging forgiveness (which always beats begging for permission); I knew he’d be mad, but he’d know what to do. I saw the truck just up ahead and took a quick look back. Momma Moose was all over my rear end like a termite at a sawdust plant. I dove like Barry Bonds on a Randy Johnson fastball—right through the open window of that truck!
When I hit the seat, I thought it was my momentum that made that thing rock like a cradle going over Niagara Falls; but when I looked out the window, I noticed Momma Moose had rammed the door and pushed it in a good foot. I was screaming—and she was backing up for another go at the door. I knew right then why my momma always told me to wear clean underwear. And just as that moose started up again, I heard a pistol going off:
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The guide and Pops were screaming and snorting like cracked-out pigs in a rutting contest. The moose must’ve understood every word they were saying, though, ’cause she started backing off until they finally got between the truck and her.
Pops got in the passenger seat while I scrambled to the backseat. The guide climbed in the driver’s door and fired that puppy up. But that moose started right in again at the front of the truck! You’d have thought we were two bulls fighting over a hot cow. The guide slammed that truck in reverse and started slowly backing up. I couldn’t believe it. “What are you doing? Run over that crazy thing!”
He said, “Buddy, you got a better chance of finding a diamond in a billy goat’s butt than going head-to-head with her. This here’s a territorial issue and we have to let her win.”
So after about fifty yards, she stopped, and with the little calf in tow, turned to head back into the woods. Just before they entered, they both looked back at the same time, and I swear they were staring right at me. ’Course, there was no way I was getting back outta that truck.
The guide and Pops were beside themselves laughing when I told them about me and the baby moose. I figured they would be mad that I got the door bashed in on the truck; but the guide said, “Son, anyone who’d do something that dumb has to catch a break every now and then—so we’ll let insurance handle it.”
Needless to say, I still went hunting—and I took two bears with my bow. I didn’t worry about bears again that week. But every time I heard a limb crack, I was on high moose alert. I just knew that Momma Moose was out there waiting for me.
When we got back home it was late at night, and Momma asked me to tell her about our trip. Pops just smiled when I said, “Momma, the only thing I’m gonna tell you is I learned a valuable lesson: Don’t never mess with nuthin’ that ain’t messin’ with you.” And with that, I went on to bed.
[Threats]
1. I’ll beat the brakes off of you .
2. I’ll beat you so bad, you’ll think you were ate by a lion and crapped off a cliff .
3. I’ll slap you so hard, you’ll starve to death before you quit sliding .
4. I’ll stomp a mud hole in your tail and then walk it dry .
5. I’ll be on you like a duck on a June bug .
6. I’ll be on you like a sewing machine needle:
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