Daisy perked her ears up. We both heard the awful noise.
She stared out in the darkness, tail straight up and rigid poise.
The time was 2 a.m., her early ritual each morn.
She’d usually sniff around before her morning ground adorn.
But this morning all her sniffing was directed to the dark.
The sniffing was short lived and then she gave a single bark.
I heard her growl but then she made a beeline back to me.
I guess she must have thought it was the safest place to be.
We heard the ugly sound again, a dreadful dying moan.
A moose or elk pulled down while out there grazing all alone?
Your first thought is to go and help or maybe grab your gun.
Now you’re doubting ‘bout the food chain. Are you really number one?
They say a 12 gauge shotgun says a lot, if you can see.
But darkness always trumps and you might be their fricassee.
So we listened to best judgment, turned around and went inside.
And hoped by early daylight the poor animal had died.
The night was long. I don’t believe I ever went to sleep.
My father always kidded, “Try your luck at counting sheep?”
But every time a sheep would jump above me in the air.
He’d end up being breakfast to a wolf or hungry bear.
Daylight finally showed and I was worn out from the night.
Was I ready for the morning, maybe see a horrid sight?
I checked my 12 gauge shotgun. Slapped my face to be aware.
Alert and oriented going in loaded for bear.
At long last we were ready. My wife and Daisy set the pace.
We would be there in a minute. It didn’t need to be a race.
We could see the willows moving as we came around the bend.
We saw the cow moose first, and then her antlered bull boyfriend.
We stopped dead in our tracks, while they stared right back at us.
Then I thought of last night’s moaning. Why did I make all the fuss?
It was that time of year, the rut, moose searching out a mate.
And I’m doggone sure the lonely moose were out there on a date.
At first, we kinda giggled then a full-out belly laugh.
And hoped with any luck we’d get to see their next year’s calf.
