In all my "historical readings" of New York State, I have yet to read a "moose story".
I shot a moose, once.
I was hunting up-state New York, and I shot a moose, and I strap him on to the fender of my car, and I'm driving home along the west side highway, but what I didn't realize was, that the bullet did not penetrate the moose. It just creased the scalp, knocking him unconscious. And I'm driving through the Holland tunnel - the moose woke up. So I'm driving with a live moose on my fender. The moose is signaling for a turn, y'know. There's a law in New York state against driving with a conscious moose on your fender, tuesday, thursday and saturday. And I'm very panicky, and then it hits me: some friends of mine is having a costume party. I'll go, I'll take the moose, I'll ditch him at the party. It wouldn't be my responsibillity.
So I drive up to the party and I knock on the door. The moose is next to me. My host comes to the door. I say "Hello. You know the Solomons". We enter. The moose mingles. Did very well. Scored. Two guys were trying to sell him insurance for an hour and a half. Twelve o'clock comes - they give out prices for the best costume of the night. First price goes to the Berkowitzes, a married couple dressed as a moose. The moose comes in second. The moose is furious. He and the Burcowitzes lock antlers in the living room. They knock each other unconscious. Now, I figured, is my chance. I grab the moose, strap him onto my fender, and shoot back to the roads, but - I got the Burkowitzes. So I'm driving along with two jewish people on my fender, and there's a law in New York State ... tuesdays, thursdays and especially saturday!
The following morning the Burkowitzes wake up in the woods, in a moose suit. Mr. Burkowitz is shot, stuffed and mounted - at the New York Athletic Club, and the joke is on them, because it's restricted!