First came the phone call, on Sunday night: The Alaska Department of Fish and Game had declared a lone newborn moose hanging around the Interior town of Tok abandoned.
Did the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center in Portage have room for the calf, which was listless and dehydrated? The answer was yes.
Sarah Howard, an upbeat, unflappable 26-year-old who supervises care of orphaned animals at the center, grabbed an intern, a large dog crate and a truck and began the six-hour journey to Slana to retrieve her new charge.
She spent the ride -- the intern was behind the wheel -- chattering on the phone with relevant veterinarians and Fish and Game officials, smoothing the way for the orphaned moose's official transfer to its new home. She even found a local Tok EMT who could give the dehydrated moose fluids intravenously.
By the time she met up with a Fish and Game technician in Slana on Monday evening, all there was to do was shepherd the gangly little moose into a dog crate secured in the backseat and drive back down the highway. She thought the calf looked to be about 6 days old.
A mewling whine came from the dog crate. They tried to stop and feed the moose a bottle of formula. He seemed confused. Country music on the radio soothed him.
"He liked George Strait," Howard said.
Thirteen hours after they had set out, they were back at the conservation center in Portage and the moose calf had been named Toklat, after the river.
For Howard, late May is peak baby season. During this time of year, Howard might find herself coordinating care for a half-dozen newborn moose and musk oxen, with a small army of interns assisting.
During this sleepless calving season, Howard all but lives at the center.
Some of the animals are born at the center in Portage and are slated for eventual release into the wild. Others, like the moose found alone in Tok, are too accustomed to humans and will spend their lives in captivity. They need to be raised by hand, bottle-fed and nurtured.
In those cases, "we become mom," Howard says.
'Leave them alone'
Fish and Game officials warn that moose calves may often appear to be "abandoned" when their mothers are simply out of sight.
Interfering with such calves can lead to encounters with aggressive moose mothers. It's illegal to feed or pick up moose calves.
"Even when young animals are orphaned, the best policy is to leave them alone," says Ken Marsh, a Fish and Game spokesman.
But occasionally, moose calves are observed by Fish and Game personnel and declared to be abandoned. At that point, accredited caretaking facilities like AWCC may care for the animals. Handoffs are coordinated between caretakers and Fish and Game technicians.
Howard wears a different uniform for each of her contacts with different animals, to avoid spreading disease between animal populations. For Toklat, she had chosen a pair of pajama bottoms with a moose print.
She first came to AWCC as an intern in 2010, while studying wildlife management and biology at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point. She now lives in Girdwood and works at the center full time.
Howard has been a surrogate mother for dozens of animals. A moose named Baby Bill, who turned out to be a girl. Mukluk the musk ox. A memorable pair named Walter and Ham. The list goes on.
For calves, there are around-the-clock bottle feedings and a diet supplemented with offerings of fireweed, willow and alder.
Bottle feeding leads to bonding. Howard tries not to get too attached. But when they get big -- and dangerous -- the snuggly days are over, and she, like every mother, has to let go.
"You're happy, but you're still sad," she said.
In her job, it helps to be good at dealing with the unexpected -- just last month, Howard was escorting a Norwegian wolverine named Kaspar across the country to his new home in Portage when he gnawed a hole in his crate at Newark International Airport. The incident made international headlines.
Kaspar was tranquilized, moved to a new crate and is adjusting to Alaska just fine, Howard says. Despite his wily reputation, she says, he's surprisingly docile.
Settling in, meeting the neighbors
On Tuesday, Toklat the moose calf wandered around his enclosure, nosing Howard. He seemed to be 85 percent spindly legs and 15 percent eyelashes.
He sank to the ground, awkwardly folding his knobby joints under him, and sipped from a bowl of water, blowing bubbles through his nose.
"You're a silly guy," Howard said.
Howard guessed he weighed about 30 pounds. His next bottle feeding, with a high-nutrient formula, was scheduled for 2 p.m. She was watching him for signs of intestinal distress.
Toklat's next-door neighbors are two more of Howard's charges, a pair of piglet-size, weeks-old musk oxen half-siblings named Susitna and Yukon, who perpetually appear to have just awoken from a nap and will try to nurse anything shaped like a nipple.
They too were being bottle-fed around the clock.
Howard had to excuse herself. She had things to do.
Her day was about to get even busier: Another moose had been declared abandoned by Fish and Game in the Tern Lake area.
By nightfall, there would be another newborn to take care of.