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THE AWFUL TRUTH
ABOUT THAT MOOSE
By Guy Spastic © 1998
After being
riddled with guilt for nearly twenty years, and spending an unnamable amount of
money on therapy, I've decided to come clean about an incident that happened in
1980.
It all started late one Saturday night after a certain drinking
establishment in Montrose closed its doors and gave me the boot. I was headed
home, south on Highway 550, my thoughts on an article about black holes in
space that I had read in Popular Science earlier that day. Suddenly,
there before me in the dark, was one! I tensed as my hands tightened to
a death grip on the wheel. I can remember thinking, "I'm about to have a close
encounter…" that's when I realized the black hole was hairy and had legs.
My normally lightning-quick reflexes were slightly dulled by the
hydraulic dinner in town, so I plowed headlong into it, believing I was going
to die. It happened so fast, the squealing tires, the busted glass, the painful
scream that I heard last. Before I could compose myself, I found I was safely
on the shoulder of the road, staring blankly at the gaping hole where the
windshield had been, at the largest set of spoons I had ever seen.
Holy-whopping-cow-pie! This was surely a Boone and Crockett trophy. Those
antlers were wider than my Vega, and I thought to waste them would be a crime.
Reality told me though, a hood ornament that size would make it impossible to
navigate.
I wrestled the head out of the car and, after acquiring a sizable
hernia, managed to drag it off the road and down into the ditch weeds. Panting
like a steam boiler, I huffed back up the steep slope of the ditch, and that's
when I noticed, in the headlights of another passing car, the hulking carcass
across the hood. I stood in bewilderment – what to do – all that
fresh meat!
I decided since possession is 9/10ths of the law, and a
goodly chunk of it was through the windshield and inside the car, I might as
well take it home and eat it. The problem was, the hind quarters were too big
to fit through the hole were the windshield used to be. I can remember being
angry at this fact, because it meant more work, and I was exhausted from the
hood ornament dragging procedure. I realize now however, had that massive
carcass come all the way through on impact, I wouldn't be here to tell the
story.
I pushed, and I
shoved, and I pulled, wondering all the while, where's help when you need it?
After wrestling with that big ol' rump for what seemed an hour, I was about to
give up. That's when I took a step back, and hunger got the best of me. I'm not
one to eat anything raw, but the thought of those fresh tenderloins - mmm! I
discovered a General Motors cigarette lighter (which was about the only thing
that worked well on a Vega) made a dandy kabob cooker.
After gorging
like an old bear about to nap for winter, I tried to stuff the remains in the
car. Much to my surprise, it slid easily right on in. I was thankful the front
passenger seat had been leveled on impact with the beast, as the carcass filled
both front and back. Now all I had to do was disguise the thing in the event I
got pulled over on the way home. I got out my highway survival kit, and draped
my thrifty space blanket over the body. Suddenly the words of the con artist
salesman who burdened me with this Vega came flooding back to me, "You'll thank
me it's a hatchback some day!" Boy, those words rang only too true.
I
got back in the car. Driving without a windshield was tough, but I was happy to
have the ventilation due to the entrails and other miscellaneous body fluids
inside the car. I hadn't gone far, and was thinking how fortune had smiled upon
me, when I saw the red lights come on behind me. Busted! As I pulled to the
curb, I was nearly in tears with the thought of going to jail. The officer
strolled up to my door in typical highway patrolman manner. Shining his
flashlight at the space blanket he queried, "What's that?" Just about then the
aroma of entrails pierced his nostrils. "Whew! And what's that smell?" he
asked. I knew I couldn't lie, so I decided to stretch the truth
instead.
"Well, that's my buddy, Moose," I burst into tears knowing I
wouldn't get away with this, "and he got real sick!" I stammered.
"I can
see why they call him Moose," the officer quipped. "And I can see why your eyes
are watering, too. There's nothing as bad as someone losing their guts in the
car."
He knows, I thought, and is just toying with me.
"So what
happened, son? You guys been out tossing back a few?" he asked.
Again,
I couldn't lie. I knew he knew. "Yes sir, we were, but Moose here, well, his
legs went out from under him, then he lost his head, so I thought I should get
him home."
"And that's when he got sick?"
"Yep." I squeaked,
waiting for the officer to acknowledge this was all a ruse.
"Son, is
this car missing a windshield?" continued the patrolman. I reached under the
seat, and pulled out a bottle of Windex. "I just washed it on account Moose got
sick."
"I can imagine," he laughed, "Where's the rear view mirror? You
know state law requires one."
"Moose hit his head on it." It was true,
I thought. "It's in the back seat."
"Well, son," he said, "I could
write you up, but it looks like you've learned a valuable lesson tonight, so
I'll let you go."
I couldn't believe my ears. "Thank you, sir! I'll get
that mirror fixed right away!"
The patrolman went on his way, and after
I quit shaking, so did I. I ate moose all that winter, and never fixed or
cleaned the car. I couldn't quite face the memory of it, and so it has sat in
the barn all these years.
But now I'm finally free from all the guilt,
does anybody need a nice Vega hatchback? It has one-of-a-kind moose hair
upholstery and features a fully reclined passenger seat. And I'll even discount
it for the lack of a windshield.
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