So there I was, sinking down in a hot bath after having run over 45 miles for the week, and my partner sticks his head in the door.
“You have to see this,” he says.
And I’m like: Whatever. I’m old. I’m resting my legs. Leave me alone.
“No, really. There’s a moose outside the window.”
I was out of the tub in two seconds, dripping water as I ran to the living room. And there was this gal (at least I think it was a gal, it looked a tab bit girly) peering in the glass, as if she had come to visit. As if there was nothing else in the world she’d rather do than stop by to say hello.
I threw on a pair of shorts, shirt and boots and grabbed my camera. She didn’t seem to mind that I was squatting on the steps, my hair wet, my legs still dirty from my run, though she did turn her back to me. I think she was shy.
She chomped her way around the yard and soon another moose showed up (her mother?) and gave me the it’s-okay-if-you-stay-there-but-don’t-think-of-coming-any-closer eyeball.
So I kept my distance. The second moose, while plumb enough, looked a tad bit worn, with a sore on her backside. It looked like a bite mark, so maybe she’d recently had a scuffle with a bigger, meaner moose or perhaps a domestic quarrel.
The moose hung around about ten minutes and slowly headed over to the neighbor’s yard. By then I was cold (and hungry–watching them chomp so furiously on the branches made my stomach growl), so I went inside and climbed back into the bathtub while my partner made dinner. I lay in that water that was no longer hot but still warm enough and thought how cool it was that even at the most unexpected of times, we can be reminded of how closely our lives border with the wild.