Well, this hasn’t happened in a while.

Man, sometimes you just have to get out of the house. Any pretext. Today, I decided that getting the mail was an imperative that belied no hesitation. I grabbed the dog and we hopped into my 4x4 pos.

The gulch looked fine, some dirt popping up from under the packed snow and ice. That was my first mistake. Assuming the gulch wasn’t out to get me. It’s always out to get everyone.

I drove as I normally drive down the gulch, slowly and carefully, because my neighbors are fucktards who don’t have the faintest idea of how to drive on ice. They will head- on a homie. It is known.

As I was congratulating myself on this thought, and my generally great driving abilities, a bull moose pranced out to the middle of the road, stopped and stared at me, in front of my truck, on the steepest part of my steep ass road.

Yay wildlife.

In less time than it will take to type this, I assessed the situation…sitch… as it were: Moose, male, midsize, 800-900 lbs., 2-3 years, brain the size of a walnut. Road, middle. Don’t want to hurt it. Truck…small… 4x4…not going fast…try stopping…

Bad idea.

I tapped the brakes. What I didn’t know a millisecond before tapping the brakes was this: Road? Sheet ice. Texture? Zamboni smooth. Stopping potential? Laughable. The gulch loves the complacent.

As my truck began its first 180, I tapped, steered both directions, honked and shoved my dog onto the floor (airbags, yo)

As my truck began its second 180, I tried gas, more steering, more aggressive braking and started to laugh, loudly, at the absurdity of this.

The fucking moose just stared at me, I am now going past it, after doing an uncontrolled 360, still out of control, and the fucking moose is looking me right in the eye as I slide by it. It never moved.

I think it winked.

Third 180 (pointing back uphill, the way I came, if you are counting) I am getting close to a snow bank. I try flooring it, gonna ram the bank. I think my downwards momentum is sufficient to keep the back of the truck sliding downhill so I may not get stuck.

Nothing happens.

I just let go of the wheel at this point. What’s going to happen is going to happen.

My truck bed pointed downhill, at the ass-end of a 540, my hand on my dog’s body to keep him down, feet off the pedals, hands off the wheel, laughing at the absurdity of this, bracing myself for the inevitable airbag to the face…I hit a patch of bare dirt. I can feel the tires hit it; I can feel the split-second of traction.

Both hands on the wheel, clutch in, brake, hard. If ya’ll drive on ice, you know if you hit traction, you have a split second to brake, all that “tapping” nonsense is out the window at this miniscule juncture. The truck stopped.

Really?! Louder laughter, the dog thinks I’m crazy and wants out.

I shrugged, put it in reverse and backed the rest of the way down the road, still giggling about the folks that will be driving up next, trying to make sense of those insane tire marks.

The moose is still there, in the middle of the road, icy tire tracks all around it, like a picture.

It.

Never.

Moved.