“WHITEY” The North Shore Moose (Silly poem#7)

A funny thing happened to me on the way,
To a moose-hunting venture that ended today.
I spied a cow moose with the whitest of fur,
“Twas North Shore “Whitey”
I’d heard about her.
The folks who reside on that side of the lake,
Are proud of their Whitey,
Mother Nature’s mistake.

An ancestor of hers with white pigmentation,
Had been shot by a hunter who stirred indignation.
A petition was raised in pertinent places,
To exempt all white moose
From moose-hunting chases.
But nothing official had yet ruled it cheatin’
To prevent poor old Whitey
From ending up eaten.

And today as I stared at that moose by the road,
I reached for my rifle and prepared to load.
I remembered the weeks I had hunted in vain,
For illusive bull moose in the snow and the rain,
As the season progressed
My frustration got worse,
And I thought of the cow-tag
I had in my purse.

I looked at ol’ Whitey and she looked at me,
And I saw that her eyes were as brown as could be.
And the tears in those eyes that I saw today,
Made me tear up my cow-tag and throw it away.
With my camera instead,
I shot her ‘neath the trees,
She smiled as she posed,
And I’m sure she said, “Cheese!”