(** a nodding homage to the Dead Milkmen **)
Round about 5am this morning Ripley started going absolutely berzerk... barking her head off and racing around the tent, including tromping all over us in bed. So, I bolt out of bed, grab a shirt and my shotgun and stumble over to unzip the tent. Well, she shoots between my legs and races out into the yard before I can even get the flap open enough to see what's out there. Lo and behold, I catch a glimpse of a huge bull moose taking off into the trees at the top of our driveway with Ripster in hot pursuit.
So I yelled at her, which at least made her stop in her tracks; but it took both G and I several minutes to get through to her little doggy ADHD brain that she really needed to come back to the tent right now and not chase Mr. Moose, who would most assuredly kick her furry butt if she didn't back off.
Sorry, no pics... but when you live in the bush you tend to grab the shotgun and not the camera when some unknown wildlife wakes you up from a dead sleep at O'dark-thirty.