“I ordered a goose and they gave me a moose! Ha!” my neighbour Brad declared brilliantly to each neighbour arriving at the spectacle.
The doorbell rang. A rude awakening from the thoroughly contented inertia we maintained around the dinner table after a meal of lemongrass-pesto chicken and asparagus fresh from the Farmer’s Market.
I opened the door to my elderly neighbour Patricia, her face a beaming ray of anticipation:
“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt you but this is something you’ve got to see! There are two moose on the other side of your neighbour’s hedge. Bring your cameras!“
We rushed outside to join the small assembly of neighbours gathered across the road. Parents and young children observed these new arrivals to our urban Albertan neighbourhood. The friendliness of our neighbours is something by which we’ve been truly blessed in this neighbourhood. New neighbours introduce themselves, old ones stop to chat on the sidewalks, and we all watch out for one another. It’s a rare community.
“We called Wildlife Services,” explained Brad, “but they said Sunday is their day off! “
More neighbours, informed by Patricia, ran down the street, bare-footed, to take a look. We maintained a respectful distance. Neighbours chatted and discussed where the moose could’ve come from. Perhaps the river valley? The moose just laid down and stared at us.
Moose. How inconvenient there is no distinguishable plural form of the word. 9/10 Canadians would agree that meese would be an appropriate term.
“What a gift to all fathers!” Brad enthused.
And that concludes a Father’s Day in an urban Canadian neighbourhood. Wildlife Services has not made it out, much blood was lost to vicius spring mosquitos, and not one neighbour actually said “Eh!”