The Moose

“Mr Creed?”

“Mmmm…?”

“There’s a moose.”

“So…?”

“There’s a moose!”

“Well, we’re in Canada, and we’re not even in the city…”

“Mr Creed, there’s a moose. In your garden.”

Victor sighs, stop reading his newspaper and goes to check.

He doesn’t inderstand why Birdy is so perplexed by a moose: they’re in Canada, in the countryside, it’s totally legit for a moose to be there.

And so he goes to the window where the short blondie is standing, transfixed, and moves the curtains to look outside.

“So let me loooohhh… Hostie d’tabarnak!!”

“Told you, Mr Creed, there’s a moose.”

“You didn’t tell me there’s a moose at our window!”

The moose is looking right inside, and it looks like it’s taking a shower thanks to the sprinklers outside. Victor can’t blame it: they’re in the middle of a heat-wave.

“Mr Creed, do you think it will open the window?”

“Birdy, if it wanted, it would be sitting on my sofa. If there’s a scary thing, that’s a moose wanting to take your place. And Canada Goose if you’re not careful enough. Believe me.” A pause. “We should probably turn on the sprinklers by the trees.”

“I won’t move, it’s looking at me.”

“You’re looking at its neck, eyes are up.”

“Exactly what you say to me when I’m too close to you.”

“Birdy?”

“Yes, Mr Creed?”

“The sprinklers by the trees, please.”

“Yes, Mr Creed.”