I've grown up in Colorado. Lived here my whole life. Never seen a darn moose. Tourists come here, they see moose. I go to where the moose are supposed to be - no moose. I have to see a real, live, honest-to-God moose before I die. I simply must.
Several years ago, my friend Angelina and I went through Yellowstone on our way to go see her husband who was working in Washington. I'm getting excited. There are moose in Yellowstone. The moose won't come to me in Colorado, so I'll go to them in Yellowstone. It's a sound plan, no?
We only had a couple of hours in Yellowstone before we had to hit the road, so we stopped at Old Faithful to look around. I had my camera out and was taking pictures. Mostly of bison, because, well, let's face it, there are more bison than humans in Yellowstone.
I was squatted down, taking pictures, when all of a sudden I hear, "A Moose!" Remember how I really, really wanted to see a moose? And how I've never seen one? Yeah, I was pretty excited. I jumped up, camera ready, to snap a picture of the elusive moose.
I looked around frantically. But I didn't see a moose. Now, I've heard they're big critters. Hard to miss when they're standing up. But I didn't see one. What I do see is Angelina barely able to hold her sh*t together. She's laughing so hard that her face is red from trying to hold it in. She gestures toward the tourist, who is pointing at the "moose"...
I looked at Angelina and said, "My public school education has failed me again! I would have sworn that we were looking at bison." (Okay, I had to add that last part just to tie in with Mr. Daddy's school theme, but I really did say that. Really.)