Last night was Halloween, which for some reason meant I had to dress up as a hot dog for my evening walk around the neighborhood:
I don't completely dislike the outfit. Actually it feels pretty snug and would probably make a good "thunder shirt." I'll have to suggest that to M the next time the skies are angry. The main problem is that it's not very practical for going on a walk. It binds a little. And it's hard to lift your leg, which is an important consideration given my walking style.
But M said we ought to get into the spirit one evening a year, because there'd be lots of kids going around in all kinds of costumes, mostly scary things like witches and zombies and ghosts and goblins, and they'd think it was pretty cool seeing me all decked out, too.
"Remind me why they would dress up like that?" I asked, and he said it was for something called trick or treat, where they go knocking on doors, pestering the neighbors for treats, and if the neighbors don't give them some treats, the kids play tricks on them. (I'm sure he must have told me about this last year, but I guess I blocked it out.)
"I'm not that into scary," I said, but he promised it would be fun scary, not heart-stopping scary.
We headed down the road, and it didn't take long before I got tired of the binding hot dog straps and not being able to raise my leg properly. So I thought up my own version of trick or treat: If M didn't give me a doggie treat every half-block, I'd trick him by standing right there until he ponied up. It worked out pretty well.
By the way, we walked all over the place and the only dressed-up kid we saw was a girl in some gauzy, princess-looking outfit. No witches or goblins or anything that was the least bit scary.
And then we came to this house:
Well, that sight really brought me up short. Those things looked about ten feet tall and had all kinds of shrieks and moans and other-worldly noises coming out of them. Any enthusiasm I'd managed to conjure up for Halloween cooled off right away.
"Let's blow this Popsicle stand," I said. "Those aren't kids. I've seen enough."
I told him I was a bit bummed at the sparse turnout of trick-or-treaters, and he explained that it was probably because it was too early. "There'll be more after dark," he said.
"Why didn't we wait until dark to come out?" I asked.
"We have to get home so we can turn out the lights and watch TV and not answer the door." (This is M's idea of getting into the spirit.)
"Suits me," I said. "Can I have another treat?"
On the way home, we came across Lucy, an American Eskimo dog who lives near us. I'm sure she wondered what in the world I was up to.
Okay, cotton-top, you can stop gawking any old time!
This is "The Big HalloWeenie," signing off until next year.
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