The Moose in the Stone Circle

I was having some kind of elaborate picnic with D (a woman I spent several weeks with in New Brunswick, Canada). She was elegantly dressed, as if going to some kind of old-fashioned ball, though we were sitting on a blanket with a cooler and paper plates. At some point she got up to admire the view of the lake, and I sat behind her admiring the view but also noticing her excellent figure in the elegant dress (she actually looked very attractive, much more so than she is in reality). I recall trying to decide what to say to her, how to compliment her on her dress without appearing lecherous, but we heard a strange sound, like the sound of a wounded dog maybe. Except that it was louder, more like I’d imagine a cow would sound if in pain, like several cows, maybe. She turned and became quite agitated about the sound (which kept on going), and wanted us to go and find its source. I got up and tried to somehow hold her, as if to comfort her and tell her not worry about it, but she just pushed me away and started going off in search of the wounded animal. For some reason I didn’t want to follow her, but I felt like I had to, and I with some frustration at having this nice, potentially romantic scene ruined I reluctantly went after her. I don’t recall what happened in between, but somehow we were now in a large grassy meadow, and we could see some large animal thrashing around and crying out. When we got closer I could see that it was an elk, or a moose, or one of those large Canadian kinds of animals, and it stood as though trapped in a circle of large rocks. D arrived before me, and was trying to calm the creature with soothing words. I could feel like it was a mistake to get too close, and had a sense of impending dread as I watched her cross into the circle of rocks. The moose, who had been calming down, suddenly swooped its head around, picking D up in its antlers and tossing her out of the circle. I knew I had to help her, but for some reason I also knew in order to save her I needed to bring her lots of fashion magazines, those magazines for women that are filled with sex tips and that sort of rubbish. However, I was in luck because oddly enough there was a large American-style gas station nearby that we had somehow not noticed before. I was filled with a strange mix of anxiety and desire as I rushed towards the gas station to get the magazines and rescue her.

(Paul included the text above with the object. It describes the dream he had, which the scrimshaw illustrates. For more details about Paul, these objects, and how they ended up with me, click here!)