So SOME people can manage to go on a short trip and write about it concisely, devoting just one blog post to their adventures.  But that is not me.  I’m the verbose, rambling, long-winded type.  Deal with it.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009:

Mr. Moose and I woke up bright and early, leaving our Canadian friend to slumber.  We hopped on the bike and rode to the Greenville, Maine DOT, hoping to check out some salt-loving moose.  We were not disappointed. 

At first we just saw fog, and plenty of it.  We hid in the woods and amused ourselves by quietly whispering.  Mostly it was all, “So what special gift do you think we should get D. for Canada Day tomorrow?”  Okay – not really.  Mostly it was, “What the HELL is wrong with that simple minded Canadian bastard?  Can he ever make himself scarce so we can get some?  Hey! I know!  Maybe we can convince him that he should give himself  a Canada Day present – the wonderful present of peace and solitude.  We’ll tell him that he really deserves twenty minutes just sitting quietly on his bike in the hovel  hotel parking lot.   With his helmet on to dull his hearing.  Or even eleven minutes.  Yeah – eleven minutes oughta do it.”   

Just when we’d worked ourselves up into sex-less indignation, she emerged.  A moose appeared out of the fog and just stared at us.  It was amazing.  She absolutely knew that we were there, and she kept her guard up.  She’d lower her head to take a drink, but then shoot it right back up and give us the stink eye, with a “I see you two jokers.  And you better watch yourselves” expression. She hung around for five or ten minutes, and then just disappeared in the mist. 

Moose: “Shouldn’t you two clowns be off buying D. a nice Canada Day present?” 

Moose: “WHAT?!?!  He never self-sexiles?  And despite his years in America -the greatest god-fearing, freedom-loving land in the nation – he STILL says “zed” instead of “zee”??!!”

Moose: “I wish I had me some antlers.  I’d prong him so hard he’d cry for his mother  mum.” 

After the moose encounter, we headed back to the hotel, collected D. and rode into the village, eager to use the canoes we’d rented the previous day. We rode to Prong Pond, a 400 acre “pond” off Moosehead Lake.  The pond is two miles from end to end and over one mile across.  It has several small, rocky blueberry-covered islands, and some pretty impressive mountains all around.  It was absolutely gorgeous, and so quiet and peaceful.

Well, it WAS peaceful and quiet.  Then Mr. Moose and I attempted to row a canoe together.  Have I mentioned that I am not adept?  At most anything?  Including canoe rowing?  ‘Cause I’m not. But I blame Mr. Moose, too, because he persisted in using the very confusing phrase, “That’s good”.  WTFuck, Mr. Moose??!!   Apparently, by “That’s good”,  Mr. Moose meant, “That is sufficient.  Please stop. Stop, goddammit, lest we crash or capsize!”  But usually when Mr. Moose says, “That’s good”, he’s saying it not in a canoe but in the bedroom.  Where it definitely does NOT mean, “That is sufficient.  Please stop.” Hence my confusion.  Eventually we learned to work together, and Mr. Moose caught some amazing fish, mostly small mouth bass and perch, as did D.  I’m not into fish abuse, so I served as trip photographer.  Check out my work:

 

Mr Moose: “Am I not a great American Hero?  Check out the size of my fish!!!”

Mr. Moose: “Glaven’s kid, Teh Ian, just caught a fish.  But my fish is bigger.  So boo-yah, Ian.  In!  Your!!  Face!!”

D: “Good God. Will this trip never end?”

A full day of fishing/photographing really took a lot out of us.  When dinner time rolled around, we were all too tired and lazy to go out.  So we stayed in our hovel  hotel room, just the three of us and that godforsaken scary ass fox-beast, and we had potato chips and liquor for dinner.  It was delicious, but not nutritious. True story.    

Tune in next time (the LAST time, I promise!) to hear all about the Jesus stick , Santa’s summer home and our complete and utter neglect of Canada Day.