the moose goes to court

“I can make it. Thank you, but I don’t need your help.”

Between cases, Sarah Davies was enjoying a smoke break as the moose very slowly climbed the cement stairs of her courthouse. Almost twenty people were running around him with cameras and microphones.

“Please, I insist,” said a woman with a news microphone. “At least let me take your briefcase.”

“Thank you, I can manage.”

“Do you feel that the judge will listen to you this time?” A man from an American news channel spoke through a camera lens.

“My case has merit. If the court is just, I will be allowed to speak.”

“What does your wife think about the allegations? E! is reporting that you have begun a trial separation.”

“Were you at the hotel, sir? Honesty can only help your case at this point.”

“I won’t comment on gossip in the tabloids,” the moose said. “These allegations of numerous girlfriends and multiple families is slander propagated by my opponents. Maria and I have never lived together, so we don’t understand what you mean by trial separation.”

“Don’t you want to see your children?”

“Not really, no.”

The reporters murmured among themselves as cameras streamed a hectic scramble of arms and faces to the world.

“Why are you so determined?”

“You’re after the fame?”

“It’s clear to everyone that your opponents are going to win this case. You’re just wasting everyone’s time.”

The moose stopped and turned to the crowd of reporters on the stairs below him. He stood proudly, his left front leg on the top stair of the courthouse and paused before speaking.

“No. Not because of the fame. Because we are being wronged.”

A young boy looked over the shoulder of the moose and saw a Canadian flag waving in the wind. The moment inspired him deeply until he saw that the flag was printed on a garbage bag which had been caught around part of the metal fencing which surrounded the part of the courthouse which was under construction. The torn plastic fell awkwardly against the wind. It’s always under construction, the boy thought before thinking about dump trucks.

The moose turned away from the reporters and continued into the courthouse. He did not want to respond to any more of their questions.

“What was Oprah like in real life? Did you swim in her pool?”

“Are you and Branson really going into space with one of the Kardashians?” 
“I heard you’re going with Irena Shayk.”

“We aren’t wasting time with models in orbit around the planet, that’s for sure,” the moose said, watching his hooves on the steps while he carefully tested his stability. “Richard is determined that this mission is an integral component in the development of the cancer fighting gene therapy which his team is working on.”

“Have you repaid the damages caused to the hotel bar?” 
“Was she worth it?”

“Who are you wearing?”

Sarah Davies felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the text on the screen. Is he there yet? She put the phone back in her pocket, finished her cigarette, sighed, and returned to her desk inside the courtroom.

“Please have a seat,” the court bailiff pointed to the chairs arranged behind a wooden table.

“I am not able to sit down,” the moose said.

“Sir, You will have to sit through the proceedings. When the judge asks you to stand, you will stand. Failure to comply means that you will be in contempt and I will have to arrest you. I’ll tell you right now though, after what I’ve heard about you I want to arrest you.”

“No, you don’t understand. I am unable to sit down. If I lay on the ground you will probably think me undignified, and the judge will not be able to see my head over the table.”

“My dog can sit.”

“I am not your dog.”

“You certainly are not. Scruples would never be found in contempt. You, on the other hand, are already in my bad books. One word from the man on the bench, and out come the cuffs! You can trust me on that one.”

“If I were to tell the court when I am sitting and when I am standing, will that do?”
“Fine. Do you as you like. We’ll let the judge decide.” The bailiff walked over to his

post and stood against the wall facing the middle of the courtroom.

The moose surveyed the area where he was expected to give his deposition. Three cameras and twelve microphones on a desk. He was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was the fact that he would have to move the chairs out of the way in order to reach the media. Such details were usually handled by his manager, but the moose could not see that lazy bastard anywhere in the courtroom.

Richard’s probably doing blow right now off that harlot Mandy’s tits, that’s what, the moose thought and then he thought about Mandy’s breasts for a while. That’s hot. But, she’s been trouble since Atlanta. I would have dumped their asses a long time ago if I didn’t need their contacts.

The moose moved the two chairs into the aisle between his desk and that of the legal council for the provincial government. His glance toward the lawyer for the Ministry of Transportation may have appeared to the people in the gallery as being sidelong, but it was not. He stood in the area vacated by the chairs and faced into the largest camera. Men in the gallery behind him were speaking to each other.

“If the judge allows this case to proceed, we’re going to have to take this into our own hands. You know what I mean, Robert.”
“Yeah, I know. My guys are ready.”

“This stupid thing wouldn’t have even got this far if the moose had to do this in French. According to provincial legislation, he should have to do this in both languages.” 

The moose watched the people stir around him for a few minutes. Everyone in the room except for the two bailiffs were talking amongst themselves. After a few minutes, he glanced around a bit nervously before speaking to the room.

“I am sitting down now,” the moose said while remaining standing. The people around him stopped whispering to each other and turned their attention to the front of the courtroom.

Sarah Davies began typing at her desk. Her job was to record every word spoken in the courtroom by people of importance to the case. Most often she handled depositions, such as this one. She wrote so much for her job that she was the only one among her friends who did not blog or network socially. Her friends often blogged about that.

The bailiff cleared his throat. “All rise as His Right Honourable Charles Henry Galbraithe enters the chambers.”

Everyone in the room stood up and went silent.

“I am now standing,” the moose said and remained standing.

A tall man with grey hair and fat jowls walked from a door which opened on the far side of the room. He walked briskly and his black robes continually tripped him as he moved to his bench and sat down. The moose wondered why the man with the most power was the one who least able to run away should anything important happen.

“Please be seated,” the bailiff said. Everyone in the room sat down and remained silent.

“I am seated now,” said the moose. He saw that the bailiff was looking him over very sternly.

“Indeed,” the judge did not lift his eyes from the files in front of him as he spoke. He opened a file on his desk and read for nearly a minute while writing sporadically on both the file itself and a notepad beside it. After it appeared that he had finished reading, he chuckled to himself and wrote a long joke about two priests, a rabbi, an asthmatic duck on assisted living benefits, and a Mogen Clamp in pen on the back of his right hand. “Well, this will be fun,” he finally said. “Whenever you are ready, please begin your deposition. You have three minutes.”

With some minor difficulty the moose opened his briefcase and shuffled through his notes.

“Your honour, I am here today as a spokes– ah, to speak representing the plaintiffs in

the lawsuit first brought against the provincial government of Newfoundland and Labrador back in January of 2011. The appeal brought before you today is a response to the Superior Court’s decision. I was among many of them when the decision was announced and witnessed their outrage and disappointment.”

The moose leaned into the microphones to ensure that he would be heard by everyone.

“When the Court ruled in favour of the government in the case brought forward by the Right to a Safe Life for Moose action group – many of whose members are included in the group for which I have been entrusted to speak – some of the younger brethren among my community wanted blood. They felt that the legal system had abandoned them. More accurately, our case was never seriously considered by the justice system available to us at the time. We lost because we were not recognized. And this was after so many people in both the provincial courts and the news media had made heartfelt assurances about that fact not being true.”

“Nonsense,” said a woman who was seated in the gallery, provoking a great deal of

 casual murmuring.

“Despite the loss,” the moose continued, undeterred. “The RSLM was able to join efforts with numerous other groups to regroup and launch this present appeal. Over the past few weeks, you have heard from our legal experts on the matter. While it is true that I acted as one of the principle consultants for the team, I am not here to go over their arguments again, as they are already a matter of court record.”

The moose paused for a second and looked at Sarah Davies. She sighed to herself, looked down at her computer keyboard, and pretended to type something important when he winked at her in an exceptionally unsurreptitious way.

“I am here to personalize our cause. With great effort, I was able to learn your language–”

“Ha! Tu es drôle. C’est une blague, oui?” said a man in the gallery.

“–and your methods and system of justice. I felt that it was important for me to learn your ways so that I may participate in your system.”

Noise from members of the gallery rose to a loud chant and the judge silenced them by snapping his finger in the air repeatedly.

“Alright, alright,” the judge said loudly. “Enough with that. Moose, you have a minute left.”

“Your honour, I am now standing,” said the moose and remained standing. 
“Careful,” the judge said and glanced at the bailiff, whose smile did not seem to bother trying to mitigate his anger.

“I’m sorry, your Honour. I’ll sit back down. I am now seated,” the moose said and remained standing. “I deny that you can limit my time here. First of all, the RSLM wishes to bring to the court’s attention several problems as current exist with the legislation. Section four reads, and I quote, the holder of a big game licence to hunt, take or kill female only animals shall, upon request of a wildlife officer, produce the head of the animal.”

“Yes, what is your specific problem with the legislation?” the judge did not lift his eyes from the newspaper in his lap.

“Certainly good relations between neighbours cannot be maintained when legislation of such a barbaric nature is enacted.”

“I really don’t see the problem here. Moose have not been granted rights other than presented by this legislation.”

“Nearly everyone in my community feels that we have a right to live and walk among the rural areas of Newfoundland proper.”

The judge rolled up the sleeve of his robe and looked at his watch. His pen fell from his

hand and off the desk and his spine made an audible crack when he bent over to retrieve it. Nearly a minute passed before he was successful.

“While it was not our intention to come to this province,” the moose continued, despite not being able to see the judge. “The fact remains that this is our land now, as much as it belongs to anyone else. With property under the law comes the right to life and free enterprise. My community is demanding nothing from either the provincial government or the people of this province, except for the freedom to be safe in our travels.”

“He should talk,” a man in the gallery said to a woman who was not his wife. “Did you see the size of the car he rolled up in?”

“Thousands of my kind are killed every year by motorists in this province. It is clear to us that neither the province nor the motorists themselves care about this issue, or they would alter their behaviour. Roads are still being built by the province, which is ignoring the appeals from several prominent moose action groups and other associated interests. Drivers continue to speed around in the dark, when members of my community are most active. And perhaps most egregiously, you continue to line your streets and highways with salt in the winter. Again, I don’t want to repeat what has already been heard by the court as published in government records, but you know that our diet leaves us salt deficient. Like you and those number papers you give to each other to get things you don’t make yourself, my community spends at least half of the day in search of this important resource.”

“You are trying my patience,” the judge said as he rolled his eyes. “The Supreme Court has already determined that the province is liable. Consequently, your species needs to be managed and controlled. End of story.”

The moose continued undettered by the judge’s frantic movements under his desk. “We are perpetually drawn to this magic and curious treasure, which you have so conveniently provided for us along your highways of death. The only conclusion that the more reasonable members of my community can make is that you are purposely and cruelly engaging in a drawn-out spectacle of torture and–”

The judge slammed his pen on his desk. “Alright I’ve heard enough. Your minute is over and it’s my turn to talk.” He stood up behind his desk. “This really is the easiest thing I’ve done all month. Your species does not qualify for citizenship under Canadian law. As such, neither your right to property or personhood can be recognised by this or any other court. Your appeal is denied.”

The moose stamped his foot. “Your Honour, I cannot stand for this.”

“Bailiff, would you please remove this animal from the courts. A smell’s starting to rise.”

“With all due respect, Your Honour,” the moose said, slamming his briefcase closed. “Personal insults are hardly justified.”

“Get out or I will turn you into hamburger myself,” said the judge and dropped his

pencil. The moose looked around the room nervously and decided that leaving under his own power was the best thing that he could do.

As he pulled the sleeve of his robe back down to his wrist, the judge read the note which he had written on the back of his right hand and chuckled to himself. “Mogen Clamp. Oh dear, oh dear.”