"Hey Rocky, Watch Me Pull a Rabbit out of my Hat"."Again?. That Trick Never Works"

I found a great place to spot Moose the other day, on my way up to fishing camp. It's right past Rockwood, about 30 miles west of Jackman. You can get up nice and close to them, especially when they run out in front of you in the dark. This particular one was so close, I could see and smell Moose ass, from about 13 inches away. Of course, the bad new is, that about a split second later, I ran into him, smashing my favorite 96 Caravan up and covering me in glass and Moose stuff. The bastard never stuck around to exchange insurance information, which is too bad too, because I currently only carry liability. The good news is, of course, that I wasn't killed during impact. The old-timers up there said that I was extremely lucky, and if I had been just a split second, to the left/right, etc., I'd be.... pretty hard, though, to be philosophical when you're picking Moose hair and broken window glass out of your ear, hair and shirt pocket, trying to figure out how you're going to afford another beater for next winter. So... I did what any sensible person would do in a like situation: I had the van towed home, took my fly-fishing bag and went a' fishin'. I got a ride home eventually, and was able to put off thinking about the financial reality of the situation for 2 whole days.

It got me to thinking, though. If indeed I could have been killed, that makes about a half-dozen or so times I have almost died, over the years, in really stupid ways. There was the time falling asleep behind the wheel, at the end of a 13 hour trip, just about 3 miles from my house; there was the time working with Ol' Uncle Frank, when we burst a gas main in tht building we were working on and I was almost exploded; oh yeah, there was the jumping into the lake and breaking my neck a la Christopher Reeves; Hmmm, let's see, almost exploding my Volkswagon; Drinking a whole bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 (wait, that's a time I FELT like dying). The point is, I, again, nearly met my end in a way that would have been really embarassing to have to read about in the paper. It didn't even faze me. I know that there is a higher power out/up there, and they are merciful, in that, they continuously spare me from such an embarressing fate. Or they might have a really good sense of humor. You know, it didn't even cross my mind to cancel the fish-trip. At this point in my life, I know a much more bizarre fate awaits me in the end: like probably being accidentally stabbed in the head by a knife-juggling Mime, whom I accidentally startled mid-routine to ask him the time because I left my watch on the dresser. So I say unto thee, whomever, bring it on! The fishing was lousy, and I broke the end of my fly-rod too boot, but God-Damit, take that, you Jeesly Moose!

Though I will say, I'll be driving a lot slower through Rockwood next time.