They say that, you know? History repeats itself. War, famine, plague pandemic every 100 years, bad remakes of good 80s movies, holiday family drama, and . . . Helloween. That's right, folks. Not enough has come to pass this year to change my way of thinking from Helloween to Halloween. But they also say not to repeat history, so this Helloween, I tried to learn from my experience last year.
For instance, let's take pumpkin carving time. Last year, Mom broke the last of the carving tools - those cheap, bendy little knives with the serrated edges - so she needed to buy a new set. With the set came some templates for cool pumpkin designs. Now, Mom's not above surfing the Internet to find a fun design, but she's the type to just wing it on her own based on the design and add her own creative spin (remember last year's, uh, "modified" slogan?).
But Big Brother looked through the design booklet and decided on one that had "Oh my gourd" carved into the pumpkin. Kinda funny, I'll give him that. And since Mom hates to disappoint him, the project that was rated five pumpkins for the top difficulty level began. Trying to dig out all the pieces - both big and small - from around the part of the pumpkin that formed the words proved to be a challenge. Mom used the pointy handle of a small kitchen spoon to dig the parts out, which resulted in chunks of all kinds flying every which way! I remembered that, last year, this fun stuff was not for dogs, so I was ready to pounce before they could stop me. I managed to snag one huge chunk that came right at me - my practice catching a tennis ball on the bounce was great training! I did a good job pretending I didn't know where it went, but eventually I had to chew it. When I thought they weren't looking, I gave it a chew, but Big Brother caught me and darted right for me. No way, I thought. This year, I'm getting a taste!
He chased me all around the kitchen and living room - with a little, bendy knife, I might add 🔪! Mom was shouting something about her hands being too slimy to help, and I thought I had it made. But a dog has to pant - we can't help it, if you didn't know that - so pant I did, and out it dropped in a soppy mess on the kitchen floor. "Eewwww, gross!!" Big Brother cried. Mom tossed him a paper towel, and that was the end of that. Note to self for next year - only pick up the little chunks.
When the little brown box arrived, and Mom got all excited, telling me how great this was going to be, I remembered the dopey UPS driver costume that came in last year's box, so I didn't play the game. I barely raised my eyes to watch her open the box, just laying there wondering what kind of nincompoop outfit she picked this year. Then out it came - a cowboy sheriff. Another outfit with a hat, which incidentally had been crushed in the box somehow, so when Mom put it on my head, it was all bent up and lopsided, and I looked like a drunken cowboy sheriff who couldn't keep his hat straight - think Robert Mitchum in El Dorado.
The family oooed and awwed over me, and Mom sent the outfit to dog camp with me for the annual best costume Facebook contest, which I did not win - again. Not only did I not win, I lost to my friend Charlie who wore the exact same costume. Nothing says loser like losing to someone who rocks the outfit better than you. Whomp, whomp.
Then came the trick or treating, which for me meant all tricks and no treats. Dad and I sat on the front stoop and waited for the kids to come get their candy, while Mom walked around the neighborhood with Big Brother. Fairy princesses, Pokemon characters, a ninja, a forest nymph, Big Brother dressed as a vampire, and so many more crossed our stoop. I didn't mind them reaching in to pet me, but their bags of candy hanging in my face while they did so was a little much.
I know you're thinking I'm just a grouchy ghoul about Helloween, but it's not really a dog's holiday, so I can't help it. At the end of the night, I was droopy with disappointment after the realization set in that every Helloween would be the same. Mom scratched me behind my ears and shared that she actually doesn't like Helloween either! The pumpkin carving makes her hands hurt, the pressure of trying to get Big Brother's costume just right gives her a tension headache, and walking over 5,000 steps in two hours makes her own dogs bark. She said we have to make the most of it every year, though, because before too long, Big Brother will be grown up and gone away. And when that happens, she said, we'll be wishing for some sore hands, bad pumpkin designs, achy feet, and fairy princesses banging down the front door waving candy in my face.
I don't know if I'll ever get over the lack of treats for cute dogs who graciously let their owners nincompoop them up in dopey costumes, but I guess I can see why Mom tries so hard to make Helloween good for the humans in her life - well, for one human in particular, whose vampire get-up this year looked good enough to make Mom's headache well worth it. Mom said maybe I could think about trying to get in the spirit more next year, so I said I'd start with thinking up my own costume in exchange for a few more treats and a little less tricks.
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