A Story of a Moose

I was asked (in real life, not the comments) about what I wrote in "8 random things about myself" where I said "Yes Gary, I stole the moose. But the moose really wanted to be stolen". Last night, at a friends b'day party, I was asked "did you really steal a moose?".
Yes.
(Oh, come on. I bet a lot of you have.)
So I got to tell the story. It goes something like this:
Years back, I was a mental health counselor in a large hospital. The head administrator had in his office a stuffed moose. I mean, a real taxidermist stuffed moose. He got it at some estate sale, and kept it beside his desk as a curiosity. Yeah, he was a fun boss.
Every year on April 1st, I would break into his office and take the moose (sidetrack: I've always enjoyed picking locks. I started as a kid. It was the challenge. I've never been a burglar or a thief. Locks are to me what crossword puzzles are to some people.) and then hide the moose somewhere in the hospital. As soon as the administrator found out the moose was missing, he would confront me with "where's the moose?". I, of course, would say "what moose?". The fun was hiding the moose various places in the hospital. The morgue, x-ray, the nurses changing room, and of course beside the helicopter landing pad on the roof. I mean, if you have a moose where should you put it?
The moral of this story is if your gonna have a moose, you're just asking for a moose-napping.