Mystery of the missing moose!

By Jack Elliott
Correspondent

Something was wrong at the debating table at the Bakery in Drizzle Creek. Moose was missing.
“Where’s Moose these days? Haven’t seen him for a couple of weeks,” I noted as I pulled up a chair. Eight pairs of solemn eyes stared at their coffee cups and then bored in on me with disgust. I had committed the most grievous sin in debating table etiquette. I had failed to bring the coffee pot and offer refills.
I quickly rectified the error and made the rounds with the pot, only slopping coffee on two unfortunate hands. Their squeals and whimpers were heart-warming.
“Vell don’t forget us. Und make sure you bring de cream,” ordered Ann from the chicken coop in the front corner. A chorus of clucking and cackling arose as my performance was critiqued.
A pot and a half later, everyone was served and I had started a fresh pot running through the perc knowing it was the only way I was going to get a refill myself in a timely fashion.
Finally I settled in for my personal dose of morning caffeine. The only tips I got were verbal ones. Vivacious, the waitress miraculously reappeared from her hiding place in the back of the bakery with the coffee pot.
“Oh I see everyone is still full. I’ll be back in a while,” she giggled as she disappeared back into the bowels of the bakery.
“I’ll have toast and peanut butter,” shouted a chorus at her retreating shadow.
The front door opened in staggered a gaunt and drawn Moose. A sickly ghost-like pawl stretched across his pale face. He barely managed to pull out a chair and slump into it.
“Where you been?” quizzed Pickle politely, but obviously unconcerned.
“You look terrible. You got the swine flu?” I asked from a safe distance on the other side of the table.
Pickle on his left and the Runt on his right each hopped their chairs away a space effectively quarantining Moose.
“No, I’ve been hiding in the basement for the last few days. It was really depressing but necessary,” explained Moose as a Vivacious miraculously reappeared and placed coffee and an order of toast in front of him.
“How do I get service like that?” I wondered- to myself- discretion being the better part of valor.
“Hiding? Hiding from what? Say Viv, how are our toast orders coming along? The Runt is getting restless” asked Pickle now more relaxed that Moose was apparently not contagious.
“Why from you moose hunters, of course. You think I’m going out in the bush with you amateurs all running around with loaded guns?” he replied through his first mouthful of toast.
“Besides, if one of you does shoot a moose, you’ll want me to help drag it a mile out of the bush.
Just then Bugs burst through the front door in an obvious state of high excitement.
“Hey guys! Dropped a big bull early this morning and I need a hand getting it on the truck. It’s right close to the road. Hardly any swamp. Must be within two or three miles,” he puffed still on an adrenalin high as recounted the stalk, the call, the spread of the rack, and finally the shot
“Moose, can you....” started Bugs turning back to where Moose had been seated. All that greeted him was a empty coffee cup and a half-slice of uneaten toast. Moose had retreated to the basement.