To Moose Or Not To Moose?

I heard this adorable little voice, waking me up at an ungodly hour of the morning today. "honey, wanna come down and take a picture of the moose?" (For those of you who don't know, see my previous post about our resident moose; dubbed Marty. This extremely large descendant of the deer family has made a pig out of himself by eating the bale of hay & salt-lick that we got for him while reclining in the snow.)

So I dragged my ass out of bed, more asleep than awake, stumbled down the circular staircase while rubbing the sleep scum out of my eyeballs. I staggered over to my husband who was standing by the window wearing this "oh, lookie, lookie, see what i see" expression on his face.

"Where?" I asked.

"There!" he replied.

I couldn't believe it. He was pointing at a dark blob. The blob was a tree. "That's a tree. I dragged myself out of a nice dream of running from the cops while being chased by my ex-best fat friend for this? A TREE? Are you kiding me?"

Bashfully, he hung his head. "I really need to see an eye-doctor, don't I?"