There I was, enjoying a quiet Thursday evening at home. I’d just finished my first pre-bedtime yawn when the phone rang.
 
“Hi, MJ? We just got a phone call from the state troopers. There’s been a roadkill caribou down the road a bit, and we were wondering if you might like to help pick it up?”
 
What an opportunity! I’d never gotten up close and personal with roadkill before, let alone a caribou. For so long I’ve felt this void in my knowledge of rural Alaskan living. If times got tough, I knew I could always find food in my “backyard.” But killing an animal is only the first step, and I had no idea what to do next. I’d always wanted to learn about the process.
 
“I’d love to,” I say. I quickly dressed in clothes that were easily washable but would keep me warm for a while at 20 degrees, and a few minutes later, my neighbor David and I were on our way to milepost 209.
 
I watched the wind blowing snow outside the truck window on the drive down and thought about how I might react to butchering an animal. Would I freak out? Get nauseous? Be fascinated? Grab a knife and dive in? No idea.
 
It’s weird to walk right up to a caribou and touch it. Normally I get the privilege of “close” observation only through my binoculars. You miss details that way, like the feel of the hide and the gamey smell. I was standing in awe when David grabbed a knife and started in.
 
THAT was spectacular. The initial gore gave way to one of the most fascinating anatomical sights. All the organs were intact and recognizable. I thought back to my high school science classes and lectures about heart chambers and organ structure and location. Sure enough, it was all in there. I only wish it hadn’t been pushing midnight and there was more time to marvel at this small window into the natural world.  
 
Turns out quartering a caribou is no easy task. David and I got home around 1:30am, tired, dirty, and- surprisingly- hungry. I grabbed a snack and crawled into bed. The next day would be a long one, but boy did I have a story to tell!