SUN JOURNAL • September 1, 2025
In 1960, a visit of a bull moose on my grandparents’ dairy farm generated big news in Somerset County. Motorists slowly drove past our pastures to catch a glimpse of the moose, which had a crush on Ginger, our top milking cow. On the third morning of the moose’s visit, brother Don and I asked Grampa to explain the bull’s attraction to our prize cow. “Ask your grandmother.” Inside the kitchen, we ambushed Grammy with questions about moose sex. “Ask your mother,” she said. “For some reason,” mother explained, “the moose wants Ginger to be his mating partner.” Grandpa had had enough of the utterly bewildered moose. He sicced Bonnie, our border collie, on the brute to drive him into the woods. But Bonnie instead chased him into the barnyard. Bypassing the clothesline, his left antler snagged the backstrap of Grammy’s bra. She grabbed the porch broom and chased the moose yelling, “Drop that bra!” A month later, we spotted the tattered bra on a witch hazel bush. I handed the bra to Grampa, which he called an “over the shoulder boulder holder.” ~ Ron Joseph