Moose on the Loose or: You Ain't from Around Here, are Ya?
Alright, I know we California's sometimes have a bad reputation for being, well, you know, Californian. I truly added to the stereotype while in Anchorage. On the main street going through town, a moose was grazing on the side of the road. He was practically in someone's backyard. He probably walked through that backyard to get to the delicious new grass and dandilions growing next to the sidewalk. I almost wrecked my sisters subaru because I was rubbernecking instead of driving. And the natives are obviously used to it as I was the only one squealing my brakes and doing an illegal u-turn to get a closer look. After I got out of the car with my camera other cars started slowing, too. But they were pointing at the dumb tourist taking pictures of the wildlife. Or taking bets on how dangerously close I will get before being rushed by the bull. Then again, I may have just figured how to use my California Zen to allow the animal to know I meant it no harm. But I doubt it-I was close enough that he could easily have smelled the moose meat bratwurst on my breath from lunch.