Me, two horny moose and eight miles

It's rutting season, and you know what that means? All over the city male moose are pumped up on mating hormones.

And I mean pumped.

They want to find a female, and they want to find one NOW.

I didn't think I'd have to worry while running on the paved Coastal Trail. Yeah, it weaves through wooded areas but it's paved, people. It's not what comes to mind when I think of prime moose make-out areas.

Boy, was I wrong.



Shhhh! Don't tell anyone but this small stretch of paved trail is a bona fide lover's lane for moose.

At exactly 4.14 miles of my 8-miler today (I know, because I ample time to look at my watch while perched up in a tree), I looked up to find cow moose running straight at right at me.

It happened that fast. One moment I was chilling to "Super Freak" and the next I was veering off through the brush with a very excited moose inches behind.
She was running fast, and she had the most intense and panicked look on her face. I hid behind a scrawny alder tree and she turned away. I waited a moment, got back on the trail.

A few seconds later a very excited bull moose charged straight at me. I veered off behind the very same tree but he kept coming. He was riled up, too, and snorting, and I scampered up a wimpy tree and held tight.

Hey, Mr. Moose, are you the one that charged me? I hope you found your female and that you showed her a good time with your very big and very fine rack.

This isn't me in a tree hiding from a horny moose but it is me in a tree so I thought I'd stick it in. This is from our Portland trip and it was 85 degrees and there were no moose around, no wildlife at all, which was sad.

Once the moose realized that while I was female, I certainly wasn't a moose, it lurched off, headed back to the trail and hightailed after its beloved. I waited until it was out of sight an limped back to trail. My legs shook from fright and the next mile was my slowest of the day, even though it was mostly downhill. 

Rutting moose are nothing to joke about. They are crazed, literally. They are looking for action. They can't think straight.

A bull moose was shot and killed during a middle school cross country meet out at Kincaid Park a few days ago. Here's a link for the article, from my alma mater, the Anchorage Daily News: Aggressive moose shot near middle school race at Kincaid Park.

And an interesting tidbit about moose I found on the National Park Website: Ninety-eight percent of cows observed over a 12-year period mated once a year, with only one bull. In contrast, bulls may mate with up to 25 cows each year if they can fight off challengers.

Sounds as if it's still a man's world among moose, too, eh? But enough moose talk; let's get back to running.

My 8-miler went well and I stayed within my slowish post-injury pace. My foot felt strong, though my legs were sore from swimming. On the way back the wind picked up and leaves blew over my face and I felt as if I were somewhere magical, in a movie or running across the pages of a magazine.

Then I came home and cleaned up dog puke. Beebs hurt her leg and I've been keeping it bandaged, so that she won't lick it and make it worse, and she ate the bandages while I was out running. The minute I walked in the door, she threw them all back up again. It was an awful mess.

Please Beebs, don't eat your bandages, okay?

Happy Sunday, everyone.