- From the Alaska Statutes, Section 16.05.052: Nuisance Moose
I am a nuisance moose. Or so they tell me.
I remember the first time somebody called me that. I was at a costume party in Anchorage thrown by a prominent proctologist and his wife. I wasn't actually invited, I admit, but I didn't think anybody would mind if I sneaked in behind that couple dressed as Franklin and Eleanore Roosevelt. There was an open bar, and I ordered a pink squirrel. The bartender, a young man, didn't know how to make it, so I guided him through the process. He was putting in way too much creme de noyaux, so I simply said, "Whoa, easy on the creme de noyaux, pal!" He gave me a dirty look, I thought. He finished the drink, and asked me if I wanted him to put a parasol in it. Was he being sarcastic, I wondered? "Uh, no thank you," I said. He had a tip jar on the bar, but I explained that I didn't have any cash on me. (Where would a moose keep cash? I don't want to think about it.) He said, "That's all right, Sir," but as I walked away, I heard him mutter under his breath, "nuisance moose."
Nuisance moose? Me? Hey, I'm just an even-toed ungulate trying to get by. But I was the only moose in the room, so it had to be me. All I did was tell some bartender how to make a pink squirrel, for God's sake.
I walked away, shaken. I had heard that term before, of course, but I had never been called it. It's an ugly, unfounded stereotype which is deeply resented in the moose community. Words do hurt.
Across the room I noticed a distinguished-looking older man on the phone. He was dressed as a large rubber glove. I later learned he was the party host. I fancy myself a pretty decent lip reader, and it looked like he said the words "nuisance moose" into the phone. Maybe I was just being paranoid, I thought.
A young woman walked by carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres and I asked her what they were. I was quite hungry and my four-chambered stomach was growling audibly.
"Jalapeno Cocktail Fritters," she replied coldly.
"With my ulcer?" I said. "I don't think so. What else is floating around?"
"We'll be bringing out some camembert stuffed shrimp, African chicken livers and frosted cheese with fruit, to name a few things."
"What else?"
"Well, let's see...chafing dish crabmeat, Mediterranean pot stickers, pesto toasts..."
"What else?"
"Smoky cheese bites, curried turkey canapes, sweet potato balls..."
"What about dessert?"
"Smoked salmon cheesecake. Sir, I really need to go."
"Do you have any bark or pondweed?" I asked.
"Pondweed? I'm afraid not, Sir."
"What about lichen?"
"No lichen."
"I guess I'll just chew my cud."
"Whatever," she said as she walked away. She muttered something else, though I can't honestly say what it was. But I can guess.
At some point a couple of guys showed up at the party wearing very realistic-looking forest ranger outfits. They didn't mingle much; they seemed to be looking for somebody. Smokey Bear, maybe!
Shortly thereafter I felt a sharp, burning sensation in my neck, and the hairs on my hump rose as panic set it. I reached up, and felt some kind of dart in my neck! The room began spinning, and then everything went black.
The next thing I knew I was lying on a snowbank in the middle of nowhere. I was cold, groggy, and my head was splitting. There was some sort of tag stapled to my ear.
A man driving a dogsled stopped a few yards away from me.
"Where am I?" I asked him.
"The middle of nowhere," he answered.
"Are you an Eskimo?" I asked.
"I prefer 'Inuit.' Are you a nuisance moose?"
"I prefer 'moose.'"
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