Every morning while sweating in my workout room, I notice the dribbling moose shown below. And looking at that big mama, I think—thank God I’m into birdwatching. That may sound like a disconnect, but it’s not.

I was hiking Yellowstone’s Hayden Valley, keeping one eye out for grizzlies, but mainly hoping to spot a Ferruginous Hawk. A cousin of the smaller Red-tailed Hawk with a name derived from “iron,” suggesting its rusty color. It’s a hardass only seen out West and, coincidentally, it’s also strong as iron. If a thing that flies can look muscular, the Ferruginous Hawk is your guy.

(Its arcane name is the title of a memorable story elsewhere on our site. And a different moose appears elsewhere here too, not dribbling, but “laughing.”) The point of my morning moose musing is that you see things when looking for birds that are not birds but you’re glad you spotted them.

I’d never have seen or shot an everlasting close-up of a moose in full dribble if I weren’t hunting the Rockies for a local bird while in the neighborhood. I didn’t spot a Ferruginous Hawk that morning in Yellowstone. But a towering moose casually lumbered past me, sloshed into a creek, took a drink, and let me take her picture.

I look at it every morning while doing stretches against the wall of that exercise room, enjoying moose dribbles caught in space and time. And think—with no disconnect, thank God for birdwatching. It’s not always about birds, but always about watching.

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