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So, my buddy Jesse hit a moose yesterday. He is ok but his truck? Well. It won't start. It is pretty mangled. And this was only a yearling. A small moose. It might only be my eyes but moose get darker in the winter. And when one of these big black bastards steps out in front of you....well. Our office manager hit one. A local judge hit one. Judge Huguelet was hurt because the hoof came in the window and broke his face and his arm. Totalled his car I understand. Ouch. About 600 moose a year are hit by cars in Alaska. I have got 9. So about 1/2 of 1% of all roadkill moose in Alaska go to the Adams family. I think poor old Gromit would have liked it that way. God I miss that dog. But it is part of the charm, and risk, of living in Alaska. I like to imagine one of my girls somewhere one day. Somewhere warmer and greener. Driving her car. "Hey slow down...there are deer on these roads". She will just say "boy, where I come from, the red calves dropped in the spring are bigger than your deer. Where I come from, my daddy wore a pistol in the spring working in his garden because we had bears in the yard. Don't worry about your little Texas deer little man. I am from Alaska." Like I said, part of the charm and part of the risk. God bless this place. Huh. 1/2 of 1%. I like those numbers.

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