24 June 2026
1174
R. Linda:
I consider meself an ordinary Irishman living in the wilds of New Hampshire. I moved from Northern Ireland to pursue the great American Dream. However, living in Boston was hectic, and, like being back in Northern Ireland, there were a number of jovial trips every night that me co-workers pulled me along to many local pubs. On the way to becoming an alcoholic, I decided to move to rural New Hampshire for peace, solitude, and a break from people asking me to help them move furniture.
As you know, living "up" here has its crazy times, but enough peaceful ones; it was the right choice. Me time recently, as you well know, in Boston town was quite strange, unnerving and bizarre to put it mildly. I came home to start a few days of well-deserved peace with some time off. Only, to your delight, I might add, I did not get that well-deserved time to meself, no, I did not. Instead, I have become famous in me adopted hometown and even outside it. It has gotten so bewildering and inconvenient for me to go anywhere without some stranger approaching me or asking to have their photo taken with me that I actually feel sorry for celebrities.
It all started the very first morning of me time off, it did. I decided to take me morning joe to the front deck to enjoy the early-morning fresh air and relax. Imagine me surprise when, upon opening me front door, I discovered a massive bull moose standing there.
I jumped back, me coffee flew in the air to the carpet, and I raised a "WHOA WOOEY", but the sleepy heads in the house were not aroused.
The moose was not beside the deck; he was ON the deck AT the DOOR. Blocking the door, actually, and if I didn't know better, about to ring the doorbell. We stood looking at each other, neither moving. My excuse was that I was too much in a fright to move, that he wouldn't walk in. So what to do? I treated me situation as any reasonable Irishman would: you talk to it.
"Good Morrow to ye! Any chance you'd shift your fine self a foot to the left?"
The moose stared back, not moving, not uttering a grunt, nothing. I stepped back and gently swung the door shut. I know! I shut it in his face, where are me manners? Anyway, I ended up on the back deck and was joined by the Dragon lady. I talked up a blue streak to get her to go to the front deck. No, I did not tell her what awaited at the door, I just thought the element of surprise was in me favour. I tried with all me family to open the front door, but no one was so inclined; they all settled into the chairs on the back deck, enjoying the sunshine. I got up to refresh me cuppa joe, and I could see the outline of Mr. Moose in the door glass. I wondered why no one else noticed that something BIG was at the door, but they were all half asleep.
By the time someone did go to the front door, Moosie was gone. I started to tell them what I encountered, but thought better of it; no one would believe me. However, I was in luck, not the kind of luck everyone hopes for, no, no, the typical Murphy's Law luck that applies only to meself, which be no luck. Every day, and all week, it became a daily occurrence: every morning, the moose was at the front door. And by the time everyone got up, he was gone.
When I finally, reluctantly mentioned this bizarre morning ritual, no one believed me. They all laughed, they made jokes at me expense. SO, I got it into me head to leave apples to draw the thing to stay, so I could call one of them to witness that their family member was not ready for a trip to a mental facility.
Okay, so every morning the moose is there to eat the apples, and he's soon expecting them. One morning, I had my smartphone ready to click off pics when the UPS driver arrived and scared Mr Moose off. He saw the animal take off to the woods and said to me, "I've seen that moose often enough, I started to believe he owns your house and you're the caretaker."
Oh ha-ha, not funny. Well, I finally got me photo, see here:
 |
| And there he is, Bullwinkle at me door |
Finally, the family believed me when I showed them me phone shot, but not until they all got up early the next morning to see for themselves, and yes, there he was.
Things began to escalate when word got around that we had a "docile" bull moose at our door every morning (thanks to me, kiddos, telling EVERYONE). He was dubbed "The Porch Moose." People started driving down our long, remote driveway to take photos.
I'd go to the General Store/Post Office, and I'd be recognised.
"Hey, aren't you the Moose Guy?"
And every time I answer: "No. Just resemble him is all."
I'd overhear them naming the moose. They called him "Donald." About me, they said, "He says he's not friends with our Donald, but he continues to leave apples for him."
And another added:
"I hear that Donald is going to file squatter's rights to that deck of his."
Mr. Moose was becoming more popular than me, he was!
The local news rag did a story and had the affrontery to call me the "Moose Whisperer of New Hampshire." They all believed I had some mystical woodland expertise when all I was trying to do was drink me morning coffee in peace.
The local TV station arrived. I repeatedly explained that I've never whispered to a moose in me life and that the animal mostly ignores me. Now, please leave the moose and me alone, go away.
The final straw came when the town historical society invited me to give a "talk" on the moose and explain what "living with a moose was like." WHAT? I don't live with a moose, and I be sure me wife wouldn't like to be referred to as one.
Me resounding NO did not deter the attention. No, the Boy Scouts descended upon me abode in the wee hours of the morning, pitching tents and building campfires in me front yard in anticipation of Mr Moose's arrival. I looked out the window and said to me wife, "What the hell is going on?"
Well, the Moose did show up, stole a tray of hot dogs, and disappeared into the woods.
"Moose eat hot dogs? Who knew?" Tonya said, watching this from our bedroom window. No, gee Gabe, we could be sued if anything happens involving a moose and any of those youngsters. No, no concern at all, just the question on moose and hot dogs. I tell ya!
Every morning I be hoping to see less moose. And every morning there be more moose.
Me Mam just asked me what I was doing. I told her I was writing to you about our resident moose. She had the nerve to say, "Good Luke wit dat. It sounds like da sorta tale should be tole beside a fire wit a pint in hand and a straight face the entire time."
Gee thanks, Mam.
🍀🫎📖
Gabe
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