I asked Alane tonight why she doesn't hunt moose. She said it was my fault -- that I'd been holding her back by making her live so many years in a major metropolitan area.

I reminded her that she passes an Elk Lodge on her way to work each morning. Must be some game available there.

A few hours later the boys asked for ice cream. Cookie wanted vanilla; Mojo wanted the cookie-dough flavor. But the cookie-dough was almost out, so I had to give him one scoop of that and a scoop of the vanilla. When I handed it to him he told me he doesn't like vanilla.

"No problem," I said, lifting the scoop out of his bowl with my two fingers and popping the whole thing in my mouth. He was still unsatisfied.

"There's not enough," he said, handing the bowl back to me. "I don't want it."

"Wait a minute," I said, trying to talk through a mouthful of ice cream. "You mean to tell me..."

I almost couldn't say it because I was getting the brain freeze, but yes, he did mean to tell me: he'd rather have no ice cream at all than have half a bowl of the stuff.

"Fine," I said and proceeded to eat that portion as well (after my upper palate thawed). I'll pay for that later.

Just got done watching the big speech. I want moose stew.