A Story About My Dad, and Moose

Years ago, when the family took a vacation to Alaska, my father decided that it was his goal in life to see a moose.  He was pretty determined, anyway.  He also decided, seemingly out of the blue, that if the moose could only hear his newly discovered moose call (it goes something like "M-M-M-M-M-MOOOOOOSE!"), they would be compelled to appear.  So he gave this moose call.  All the time.  In public.  Effectively mortifying his two teenaged children.

It was fantastic.  Now fast forward the better part of a decade.  My parents were in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, near where my brother will be working this summer.  In the middle of the day, I get a phone call--it's my dad.

"Kelly!" He shouts--my dad is pretty much always shouting--"Kelly, guess what we just saw!"

"Was it a moose?" I asked.  They were in Wyoming.  It was a fair guess.

"It was a M-M-M-M-M-M-MOOOOOOOSE!"

It's moments like that which confirm that I am most definitely my father's daughter.  We're just too weird to be related to anyone else.

Happy Father's Day, Pop!