The damn moose, he thought. They’d been a great source of anxiety for the department. Only he and a few other biologists had any idea what was going on. When they found these moose, they’d pull them down from the trees with grappling hooks and four of their strongest men, and even that was almost impossible. Once down, they’d bury the moose in places that most folks wouldn’t come across. The public didn’t need to know about this—at least until the department had some answers.

The DNR had a big problem on their hands.

They couldn’t claim these strung-up moose were caused by mountain lions because there were no mountain lions left. And if by some miracle there were, Michigan wildlife laws failed to protect them. The timber bosses made sure the DNR had no teeth to protect rare animals. The last thing lumber companies wanted was valuable timber locked away by meaningless habitat designations. The greenies were always getting in the way of state wildlife affairs. Eggerts didn’t think they should have a say. The state knew what was best for industry and for the wildlife that brought in tourist dollars. No one cared about mountain lions, lynx, or wolverine. The moose though? Different story. Moose can be hunted, and they’re easy to observe if you know where to look. And many local shops were named after the animal. Hell, there was even Moose Tracks ice cream and Moose Drool beer.

Eggerts took a sip of his coffee, fresh from Finn’s Market back in town. He liked going there in the mornings, the bright lighting and the calming music, the attractive ladies from town. He liked the way some of them wore no makeup, bedhead still intact, bags under their eyes. A few would ponytail up their hair. He thought they looked better that way, natural yet inferring a sense of purpose. After all, he was a natural guy. You don’t get into wildlife biology because you like the fake stuff. You also don’t get into wildlife biology because you dislike order. Everything was neatly explainable. Every reaction has a definable cause. The ladies in the market wore pony tails because their hair had not been washed; the eagle dies of lead poisoning because it consumed part of a deer which contained lead bullet fragments. These are neat, explainable packages with pretty ribbon bows. But there was one package which lay shredded, blood worms crawling in the wrappings, chewing off the bow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t close the box and finish the job.

Moose were still dying in puzzling ways.