Moose in the Kitchen

Hello, my friends! I leave for Italy in less than an hour. We’ve packed the bags, shuffled the dog off to the neighbors, obtained the many snacks necessary for a long flight, retrieved the dog by hopping over the fence and lifting her over to spend the last 20 minutes with us (she was peering forlornly over the fence that divides our two backyards and trying to claw herself over it and we’re huge suckers). I’ve even done the dishes so we don’t return to find the mold in the sink has grown opposable thumbs, taken up residence on the couch, and commandeered the remote control.

Everyone is ready to go. Including the moose:

Here is my stuffed moose, calmly presiding over the backyard. His smug expression suggests a recent meal of grilled squirrel with a tender grass shoot garnish. Which explains the squirrel fur stuck to the grill last week. Yes, I own a stuffed moose. And, yes, it’s perfectly normal for a grown woman to own a stuffed moose and, um, bring it with her to Italy.

There is a method to my questionable packing choices. That method? Blatantly ripping off the travelocity gnome. I plan to tote the moose around Italy in my purse with my camera. At appropriate moments, I will whip out both and photograph the moose in front of prominent Italian landmarks. I have a carefully constructed plot involving a stolen Italian police uniform, a water pistol and a German tourist; this will distract everyone long enough to get the moose on David’s head for a picture.

I will post the moose photos, and if anyone cares to make a guess as to where the moose is, I will ship the winner a special something from Italy. It will not be gelato. Whoever has the closest guess wins. So if you don’t know the landmark, guess the town. If you don’t know the town, guess the region. If only one person plays and guesses “Italy”, that’s the winner. Cheating is totally allowed, so google to your heart’s content.

Buon giorno! I hope you enjoyed that because it’s the only Italian I’ve picked up so far.