A Moose By Any Other Name…

A moose by any other name, would it smell as sweet? That’s the musical question that’s been asked around the dinner table for eons. Bill Shakespeare asked it once about some flower. I myself just asked it the other evening when there was a lull in the conversation, remarking “Hey! Would a moose by any other name smell as sweet?” No one in the shocked silence that ensued ventured an opinion. It is a complex issue. I even overheard it asked at one of the sanctioned Cage Fighting events I attended. Eugene the Face Masher asked it of his arch rival Constance the Nose Ripper Johnson as they entered the cage to begin their bout. It made for an interesting match as they discussed the pros and cons of the matter until one finally collapsed in the sheer exhaustion of trying to come to some agreement. That and getting a Flying Backbend Screaming Roundhouse Kick to his melon.

Having heard rumors that he was less than sweet-smelling, as many of his peers would attest by running gagging into the woods upon his approach, and I need to tell you it takes a lot to gag a moose. Plus foliage as far as a quarter of a mile downstream was wilting and gasping, turning their little petals to the sky before dropping into the stream and sailing slowly face down towards the Pacific ocean, he removed himself to the nearest stream where he could complete his ablutions and perchance be allowed to return to polite society.

 It is Spring after all and normally a young bull moose’s thoughts would turn to love but not this guy. He’s too young, he’s just got little paddles, all his thoughts turn to is stuffing his big fat face. And like many a young man he can handle that problem very well. So far he has carpet grazed this stream bed, the meadow on either side out to a half mile, and left a trail of arboreal destruction through the woods to get here of everything even remotely resembling food and is on his way to the next movable feast a mile or so downstream.

If you would like to meet this fellow simply take the backroads through the high mountains to Vail, Colorado and watch along the creek as it heads down the mountain. He’ll be there if he hasn’t completed his scorched earth policy of grazing everything to the bare rock and gone somewhere else.

Back In The Bushes

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Spring in Rocky Mountain National Park is usually a time when love is the center of attention. There is all that birds and bees stuff going on what with pairing up and nest-building and the place fairly reeks of love. For the Elk, love is for the Fall. Spring is for birthing babies. Elk mate and carry their young through the winter and in the Spring there is a frenzy of activity as the various pregnant cows decide important things. Like which clump of bushes to drop their calf’s in. It has to be far enough away from the main herd to keep busybodies away yet close enough to show off the little darlings after they arrive. Or what type of layette they will have to make their nursery complete, blue or pink, that kind of thing. One of the biggest decisions to make is which name to pick out if it is a bull calf.

Edith June and Loretta Clarisse are sisters and have always been fiercely competitive. They’ve been on the outs since last Fall when they found out they had both been with Big Daryl the herd bull. Big Daryl was one of the toughest, meanest, most belligerent bulls in the park which made him highly desirable of course, and the sisters both wanted to name their offspring some variation of Daryl, figuring this would give them an edge next Fall when the Rut, or mating season came around.

Edith June, the cow on the left, had made a grand announcement that not only was she carrying Daryl’s progeny but that she was carrying twins, both bull calves. She was going to name them Daryl, as in, this is my son Daryl and my other son Daryl. When Loretta Clarisse heard that gossip ripple though the herd she was incensed, not only incensed but furious, nearly out of her mind with anger and rage, her jealousy rampant, as she was only carrying  one calf and it was a cow. Holy Mackerel. Did the droppings ever hit the fan when she found herself bested by her sister. Not one to keep things to herself Loretta Clarisse cornered Edith June back in the bushes and made her feelings known.

Cows rarely get physical but when they do it is impressive to watch. Kind of like when two pretty, but shapely sisters fight over getting the same boyfriends name tattooed on their posteriors. There is head-butting, name calling, gnashing of teeth, baleful glaring, and hoof hitting. Hoof hitting is the one that causes damage. Their hooves are sharp and they hit with the full weight of their 450 lb. bodies, and cuts and getting an eye out are not uncommon.

Fortunately some of the older cows who have been through this many times before  waded in and broke them up before any real damage was done. Other than some bruised egos and a sharp pain in Edith June’s side from the exertion everything ended as well as could be expected. The older cows herded Loretta Clarisse to the other end of the meadow to cool down and Edith June’s friends commiserated with her, telling her how lucky she was to be having twins and how awful her sister was for being such a bitch. Cow elk use the word bitch having heard it from the many tourists that frequent the park so don’t be surprised if you hear them calling each other that if you visit. This is a good reason not to use vulgar language in front of our wild friends.

What you have just seen is not a rare occurrence here in Rocky Mountain National Park. Elk are a family and the family dynamics aren’t a lot different from that found in human families. One of the things to watch for as you view the Elk herd on your next visit is the sheer number of bull calves named Daryl. Elk are not very imaginative and tend to copy whatever the most popular cow does. So every bull calf born this year is likely to be named Daryl even if it’s father was actually named Steve. That’s just how things work here.

When the Cold Wind Blows

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What happens when you’re little and the cold winds blow, when terrors are many and there’s no one there, no one that cares or will help with your tears, a comforting presence who lessens your fears. For most thankfully, there’s always a safe haven, we know her as mother and she represents calm and safety and most of all love. When, at the end of the day comfort and warmth makes everything ok again, being next to your mom is the only thing that matters. As we travel along this journey and deal with the problems of life we can always find comfort available to us if we cherish her memory. It can still warm and comfort us, it can still bring us home again.