Living in Alaska, we often encountered wildlife, especially moose. In the winter, when the snow was deep in the mountains,
they would come down into the valley and be thick through the trees. I have awakened and opened the drapes of my room downstairs to be
face to face with a moose eating grass outside my window. I have waited at the bus stop countless times with a moose
contentedly eating a tree a short distance from me. It became second nature to sing or talk for the entire quarter of a mile walk to the bus
stop in the dark so that they knew that I was a person.
During cross country ski trips, we encountered dozens of them. They bedded down on our property with the calves and, on a
few unlucky occasions, ate our bushes down to the nub despite our repeated attempts to scare them away
by banging pots and pans from the safety of our second-story deck.
Dustee, my lovable horse, was known to be frightened of moose when they would venture too near and he would snort and run at dangerous
speeds through his pasture. When I walked out to the balcony and called his name, he would rush over to the fence
as close as he could get and fix his eyes upon me. He would stand frozen, not looking away, as if it would all be okay
as long as I was there. I would stay there with him until the moose had gone.
Despite acknowledging their well-deserved reputation, we didn't consider the moose a danger. In all the years, no one in
our family was ever hurt or threatened by them. That changed one day as I was returning from a trail ride, traveling down a power line toward
home. I always carried a folding hoof pick in my pocket in case the occasional stone or other debris became lodged in
Dustee's foot. As we were riding along, I realized that something was bothering him and stopped to check it out.
I stepped off and went to his left foreleg, kneeling down and placing his leg on my knee so I could pry the stone loose.
Suddenly, I froze, the hair on my neck stood on end and I had the distinct feeling of being watched. Instinct told me I was
in imminent danger. I remained there, kneeling down and completely unable to move. I have never been one to freeze in
dangerous situations. As a matter of fact, I am usually the first to act and address critical issues in emergency situations.
But not this time. I was only able to turn my head, and there, over my left shoulder, was one of the most dangerous creatures
known to man: an angry moose.
The sight of a moose about to attack is difficult to describe. She stood only about fifteen feet away, teeth bared, ears flat
back on her head. Standing six feet tall at the shoulder, she towered over me as I kneeled there, the hair on her back
standing up. I had no time to react before she charged. I watched her come, unable to look away from the awesome sight. Then I
felt my horse's leg rise off of my knee and out of my hand, and the next moment his front legs landed squarely in front of me.
I was directly underneath his belly, looking out between his outstretched legs, watching as his neck stretched down and
his head snaked down low toward the ground.
He assumed the posture of the angry moose, but stood stock still. His teeth were bared and his ears were flat back as he crouched over me, staring
at the moose. I only vaguely realized in that split second what was happening. The moose had stopped, ears flat and teeth
still bared, her nose only a few feet from my horse's, her angry eyes locked on his. There was utter silence, as only there can be in
the wilderness. No wind, no leaves rustling. It seemed that we were all holding our breath.
Then, from over my right shoulder I heard a rustling. It was the pitter-patter of little feet, small hooves moving
in the woods. I watched from the corner of my eye as a very young, very cute calf moose walked nonchalantly
out of the woods, passed by us and calmly walked by the angry cow moose that still threatened like a terrible
thunder cloud. The calf disappeared into the brush. Agonizing seconds passed as I waited there under my determined
protector until the cow moose relaxed her posture and turned to disappear quietly into the woods.
My sweet horse turned his head, looked at me with his beautiful eye and nuzzled me gently as if to say,
"It's all right now. You can come out." Words can't express the kindness that glowed in those dark chocolate eyes and the
love that was shown.
He stood, quietly waiting, as I crawled out from beneath his belly. He placed his legs back where they belonged, I mounted
and away we went toward home. After what we had been through together, our peaceful departure was a relief and a letdown
at the same time. For bravery above and beyond the call of duty, Dustee deserved a medal at the very least. But the best
I could do, and I think he understands, is award him the tropy of my heart. He will never be forgotten.