Moose

My roommate made moose for us for dinner tonight. She brought it back with her after visiting her family in Alaska a few weeks ago (along with some fresh fish, too). It was ground moose that she made into sloppy joes.

Well, I came home from class (which has another story in and of itself) and grabbed myself some of her moose sloppy joes and started to eat. As I was about halfway done, I asked Stanzie if she was the one who killed the moose. I was slightly afraid of her answer, because I find it disgusting to eat something you've killed yourself (yes, I have done that before with a chicken). When she answered no, I sighed with relief. Then she made it worse by saying, "No, we didn't kill it. It was road kill."

I dropped my fork. I just ate road kill! Ewwwwww! I was torn between laughter and utter disgust as I imagined eating that deer that I hit with my car almost four years ago and went through all the "West Virginians eat road kill" jokes I've told all my life.

Stanzie went on. "Yeah, when someone hits a moose, they call the police, and the police call the charity organizations! They send someone out to harvest the moose for meat and then they give most of the moose to charity and the harvesters get to keep some. We kept the leg!"

Then she proceeded to tell me, in detail, how it hangs up in their back shack and dries out and... well... and then I stopped listening because my gag reflexes were kicking in.

Earlier, I was just proud of myself for getting out and eating a new food, moose! But now? Now I just ate road kill!

Excuse me while I puke, and Stanzie continues laughing at me and telling me I'm ridiculous.