Moose Fever

"I want to see a moose," he said, his voice sounding like a ten-year-old itching to hit a home run. With bases loaded. Glancing his way, I noticed the furtive look he snuck while driving the car. His eyes skimmed the side of the road as we continued down the highway. What's so special about a moose? I kept my gaze pinned to the New England autumn colors, the brilliant orange and crimson-colored leaves dappling the scenery. Flashing emergency signs were occasionally posted on the right-hand side of the road, a warning for stray moose. Hmmm...maybe this year he'll be lucky. The pouring rain did not deter my husband's desire for the anticipated sighting. His small camera held court in the pocket of the car door. Mine was snuggled in its case, resting up for the next round of dazzling shots. He said we needed to stop at Walmart. I do not like Walmart. Ever. But, this being vacation, I didn't sit in the car and pout. After our hurried trip down the aisles, searching for fishing gear, we headed out of the parking lot. "Why are they stopped?" He nodded his head toward a gaggle of cars parked haphazardly on the street just outside of Walmart. "It's a moose!" Joy leaped from his clear eyes. I grabbed my camera, rushing after my husband, suddenly caught up in moose fever. The locals skirted around the tourists, most likely immune to the popular attraction. Afterward, we each took a quick peek at our digital pictures. Through my telephoto lens it appeared we were out in the wilderness, not yards from America's shopping heaven. His viewer displayed the moose as a tiny speck. A few minutes later, we headed back down the road, my husbands wish granted. That day, I did get some great pictures. I think I will make him a mouse pad for Christmas.