Some might think it strange that I’m writing you, a moose, a letter. No wonder, this is probably the first letter than anyone has ever addressed to an ungulate.

I’m writing in order to apologize for my fellow human being’s reprehensible behavior. And I do mean fellow, since the majority of those that I am thinking about are of the male persuasion. And too, they are hunters.

Right now, I’m not cutting any, even the supposedly most responsible of them, any slack. This is because I don’t feel that it is moral or ethical for them to be

sighting you in and shooting you. Really, I am on your side of the fence. Anti-hunting? You betcha.

Some might argue that hunting is necessary, saying that “we” need to keep “your” numbers in check. This to me is near reverse logic. We need to do a better job of keeping our numbers in check. We have no qualms about doing what we’re doing, which is breeding like flies. So yeah, your numbers, and our numbers are up in what is considered Game Management area 14-A.

I’d like to see an end to the indiscriminate slaughter that occurs in our part of the woods every year, year in and year out. I doubt this is going to happen because well, men love to hunt. I can’t do anything about this, except apologize, which I do, profusely. I would also like to apologize for the fact that we do in so many of your kind with our vehicles. Additionally, I would like to apologize for our lack of consideration when it comes to urban and rural planning. We should, when we build, think about the routes you travel. Instead, we put up road blocks which take the form of fences and the like. This makes it difficult for you all to get from point A to point B. Rather than see planning as being essential to your survival, we instead say “stupid moose!” and leave it at that. No wonder you end up in places where you “don’t belong.” And no wonder you chase those who cross your path.

Ironically, you all are a main tourist attraction here in Southcentral Alaska, as well as other parts of the state. Those visiting here from the Lower 48 are thrilled to see you. Me tool. Nothing does my heart more good than to see a female moose and her spindly calf, browsing quietly in a nearby field.

What prompted this letter is that that today’s the first day of hunting season. It used to be that a handful of men, wearing Elmer Fudd hats, checkered flannel shirts, and guns walked and stalked their prey. You then at least had a chance. No more. The number of hunters has increased, in part because they use ATVs to get around. This, to me isn’t sporting. Neither is poaching, which is more common in our area than it ought to be. Lazy bastards, one and all. Well, at least you can now hear the dimwits coming.

I wish you and your immediate family members well these next thirty days. I hope you manage to stay far afield of the riff raff. I am so rooting for you. Fingers are crossed that I’ll see you alive, with your full rack intact, at the end of hunting season, on September 26.

Next: 231. 8/27/14: Lessons Learned: A Treatise on the Subject of Success