One morning last week a cow moose was roaming the neighborhood, stripping park from a tree in one neighbor's yard, eating the flower shoots from another. She rested in our yard, her body heaving - I thought I'd witness the birth of her calf but had to pedal off to work, sneaking out the side door of my garage to not startle her. Then I didn't see her again.
Last night, on my way home from work, I pedaled onto the bog trail near my house. I was crossing a boardwalk when I saw her again. I recognized her by the scar on her side. And there in the tall marsh grasses was her new little calf (see it?). Young and wobbly, hiding from me as I pulled out my camera and kept my eyes on mom.
I could hear the gulls and geese as the bog came to life with its summer residents. I tried to be patient without stressing out the mom who started walking behind some trees. The calf got onto all four legs and began following, slowly, as I watched.
I thanked them for sharing, then got on my bike and rode home. It was the best part of my day.