Aaaaaand after spending 4 days in the woods searching for those elusive mooses, I realized it wasn't luck that got me that permit. I now realize I must have done something to piss someone important off because moose hunting is a form of torture I've never experienced before. Fuck Guantanamo Bay - just send these terrorist fuckers up to the north Maine woods for a few days and make them stare into the trees for hours and hours looking for big dark animals in big dark forests. I'm thinking they'll tell you all Al Qaeda's secrets after the first day.
On Monday, the first day, we spent 12 hours in the car. [Moose hunting is quite different than other types of hunting. Because of their enormous size, it's best to hunt them close to the road to make hauling their big fat dead ass onto the trailer a bit easier!] My job was to spend the entire day looking out the passenger window in search of meese in the woods. This is just plain fucking boring. So boring in fact, there were numerous times where I'd napjerk myself awake to find drool down the front of my hunter orange vest... or I'd start daydreaming about seeing sparkly vampires frolicking in the woods after a nice meal of deer and bear. I like sparkly vampires a lot more than moose hunting.
Luckily Mr. Latchkey took pity on my growing ass (seriously, all I did was eat I was so bored!) and didn't make me stay until Saturday which most likely saved his life since I was the one carrying the gun. [That must be why he carried the bullets. Guess he doesn't trust me!] But by the end of two more 12-hour days in the car, I was starting to hallucinate. Every fucking thing in the woods looked like a moose. Especially the root systems of fallen trees - or "stump moose" - as Mr. LKW called them. By Wednesday evenings, the "stump moose" were moving and I was ready to yell "shoot!"
Aaah yes, the infamous stump moose. Can you see it? After 36 hours in a car, those muthafuckers start to take on a life of their own.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, if you're the moose) we didn't get our moose. I was a little bummed because last year's moose meat is running low. But a little happy too... since I wasn't quite sure how I'd react to actually witnessing the whole blowing the head off a poor, unsuspecting animal. Although deep in the demented crevasses of my brain, I thought if we did kill a moose, maybe it would have lured Mr. Vampy McSparklepeen out for a taste.
We ended up heading home on Thursday due to the forecast of heavy rains on Friday and Saturday which ain't good for driving on dirt logging roads. After it was all said and done, we saw four bull moose, two cows (which ended up being too far away to kill), a coyote, an owl, woodpeckers, a mink and a whole lotta bear shit. And more than once, we almost became the hood ornament on a loaded logging truck.
If you asked me 15 years ago if I ever pictured myself driving around the north Maine woods hunting, I'd a said you were fucking crazy! But this is the sacrifice I make for Mr. LKW... and next year, I get to choose the fucking vacation... that's right beeeee-yotch! Oh, and I think I might make him watch Twilight as penance for four days that could be classified as spousal abuse.
And then we will re-enact this scene. Over and over and over again. And he will let me call him Edward.
So tell me, my fellow Twitards, do you make sacrifices for your S/O that you never thought you'd make in a million years? If so, does it end up making you want to kill them or kiss them? I think you already know my answer!