Offhand, I had never expected to be drinking anything called Moose Drool. It didn't even sound like a beverage intended for human consumption; it sounded more like an unsuccessful small college football coach.

But in the Pacific Northwest, you don't just order a beer; that's like going into a Bordeax wine cellar and asking for anything red. This region is the world capital of microbreweries, tiny local operations with a real local flavor, like the Hillsdale Pub -- a place in my neighborhood that makes the stuff from blackberries found in its parking lot. Some people ask why Northwesterners take beer so seriously; they're usually not people who have spent a winter here.

So, when I traveled a few months ago from my part of the Northwest, in Portland, to the other end in Missoula, Montana, I inquired carefully about the locally-brewed options. That was when I was invited, with the gleaming, expectant eye that natives everywhere focus on tourists, to try Moose Drool. For all I knew it was the alcoholic equivalent of a Rocky Mountain oyster, but with the hollow bravado that tourists everywhere focus on natives, I ordered one. It was a heartening English ale, amber and tangy, even with no sign of blackberries.

So it was saddening to read recently that the Canadian macrobrewer Molson's, producer of Moosehead, has sued the Montana micro for copyright infringement with Moose Drool. Apparently, Molson's has decided it owns the rights to the name "moose," a moose's entire head, and all of said head's products.

The Canadians would probably take the same proprietary attitude toward an Antler Ale, or even a Bullwinkle Bitter.

The dispute is now in the hands of the Patent and Trademark Office, which might cause everybody involved to need a beer. According to Brad Robinson, president of Big Sky Brewing Co. in Missoula, a decision could take anywhere from six months to six years, and then the loser will appeal.