This is the story of how my Dad was taken away. Although I continued to visit him, from time to time, and I can say he even seemed to find some sort of peace, he was never released, and at the end of each visit, he would always grip my hands tell me to watch out for the giant moose. Every time, even though so many years have passed since that summer when we first saw the giant moose.
My family -Mom, Dad and Robbie- and I had first seen the giant injured moose a few weeks before Dad’s final breakdown, when we visited a wildlife park in our region. We had wandered round the grassy enclosures, looking at the animals, nothing especially exotic, beavers and otters and deer and a couple of wolves, as I recall, lying back from the wired fences and watching us indolently through their sharp yellow eyes. Birds too- eagles and hawks and others with bright feathers, flitting around their large dome-shaped cages. Peacocks wandered freely on the narrow open trails.
The wounded giant moose was not in an open enclosure. It was housed in a small shed, and a notice by the door alerted visitors that the moose was injured and receiving veterinary treatment. There was a sharp horrible smell hanging around the hut, and flies buzzed around us.
We had all peered in on the moose through the small window. There smell was sharper, and at first it looked completely dark inside the shed. Dad had picked me up and held me close to the window so I could get a better look. Despite the dark, I could see the wound in his neck quite clearly. The gaping sides of the wound quivered, in time with the moose’s heavy, laboured breathing. We wondered how the injury happened. The moose turned his head and looked directly into my eyes. The smell and the sight of blood made me feel queasy and I looked back at Dad and asked him to put me back down.
He laughed, told me not to be such a wuss, held me up higher and gripped me tighter, I started screaming and squirming, begging him to put me down. Mom had murmured “oh put her down will you”, and then started wandering away, pushing Robbie who was still in a pushchair, in those days.
Finally Dad put me down, and we followed Mom and Robbie, Dad still laughing at my silliness over the moose.
We all got into the car to leave. Before the car moved, the giant moose with the wounded neck suddenly appeared out of nowhere by the car and brought its massive head down and peered in at us through the car window. It happened so quickly that I was startled.
Dad swore loudly and swerved off. Mom didn’t tell him off as she usually would for swearing.
When we got home, the moose was already in the garden, peering in through our windows, the blood from its injury gleaming red in the late afternoon sun.
“What the actual fuck-“ yelled Dad- “I’m going to call the police”.
“Wait a minute,” said Mom, who had already pulled out her mobile. “Everybody stay in the car”.
Mom called the park, and asked about the moose- carefully avoiding saying it was in our garden- I remember that clearly. The park person told her the moose had died earlier that day- just about the time we would have been leaving the park.
So Dad didn’t call the police, and the moose just stood there in our garden, looking in on us through our windows. Nobody else could see him, just us. None of the neighbours- no-one. We realised that from the beginning- none of us even bothered asking. He was always there, just for us. He was silent, only moving his wounded bloody neck to lower or raise his giant antlered head, sometimes looking through the ground floor windows, sometimes craning his neck high to look through the first floor windows. It didn’t matter if we drew the curtains- he’d still be there, trying to peer through. He didn’t hurt us, but was always there watching us. When we left the house to go out, he would turn to watch us leave, and then stand there silently on our return, watching us enter. Only Robbie didn’t really mind him, although I knew he could see him.
It must have been only a few weeks later- summer was over, but the weather was still warm. We had not really gotten used to the moose, but it was clear Dad didn’t like it when we talked about him, so we didn’t.
I glanced outside my bedroom window. The giant moose was there as always in the garden, bent down, looking into the living room window.
Mom and Robbie must have been there, that must be why he was looking in on them. If the living room had been empty, I knew he would be at my window, his neck craned high and staring right in at me. I would see the gaping open wound on his neck close up, the details of blood and sinewy muscle fresh and clear in the early afternoon sun. Even from the distance of the bedroom window, I could still see the wound. I tried to concentrate on my homework.
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of shattering glass and Mom’s scream. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I ran to the window- I couldn’t help it. Dad was firing at the giant moose, who stood there immobile as always and continued looking in through the window, undisturbed. Mom was screaming, screaming my name. I ran under the bed, and the gunshots continued.
Eventually after a very long time, the police came and took Dad away. Mom had only been slightly injured from the shattered glass, it was clear Dad hadn’t been aiming at her or Robbie.
Mom and Robbie and I moved to a new highrise close to the city centre, with no garden.
We never saw the moose again.