Halloween: To Scare Or Not To Scare

Folks, this is a very serious question you should ask yourself. Are you going to go all out, decorating with spooktacular flair, stringing up cobwebs and spiders, bats with flapping wings, scarecrows with evil grins?

Or, would you consider the feelings of one small Beagle who has never liked scarecrows and notices right away when Halloween decorations are waving in the breeze and reacts with a large amount of terror and grim determination to just get past the house and not let that thing get me?

I'd be ever so thankful if people along our walking route would not put out anything too scary. And by that I mean just about anything that is unusual.

It's not just for me, mind you. I've got to protect Mom. She is easily frightened. She might not show it at all, and might not even look like she is shivering with terror, but I can tell she is. Those scarecrows from Michaels are just terrible things. They should be outlawed, banned, and run out of town.

I know Mom agrees.

Er, I hope Mom agrees. It's bad enough that I live with a Badger. I don't think I could survive a scarecrow too!

Now, Folks, honestly! Isn't this just terrifying?

And Then The Horses

We are very lucky to have a house right on the Homecoming Parade route. We don't have to walk downtown, because the parade goes right past our house!

This year Dad closed us up inside the house, and would not let us go out.

Okay, he was in the right. We were going to bark. Probably an embarrassing amount.

Instead, I sat on the back of the couch, watching the parade crest the hill, with a perfect Beagles eye view and it was all good. I was shivering with excitement and nerves but I was in control. I wasn't barking or growling or jumping from couch to chair to couch in a spastastic way such as Olive Badger was doing.

I was a pretty cool cucumber.

Until the horses.

Yes. Horses.

Horses came up the hill, in the Homecoming Parade, and I lost my cool. I want crazy with barking, running from door to door, trying to get out of the house.

It was a no go. Dad remained firm, and the doors remained closed, until the parade was long gone and the horses were probably trailered and on their way home without me ever having the chance to bark a greeting to them, to quiz them on what it's like to be a horse, to give them a warning that this was Beagle turf and they'd best just move on along.

Hmph.

It was a once in a life time event, Dad! And they didn't even poop in the road. I won't have any chance at all to get a good smell of them!

I Am The Winner

I have a few commands that I know and will obey. Sit, stay, lie down, and my favorite, where's your toy.

Where's your toy means that Mom or Dad are going to play with me and I need to find my ragged, stuffingless, usually soaking wet toy, and find it right now, before the other girls hear and try to hone in on my play time.

Sometimes, if I bring my toy to Dad, he will stop doing what he is doing and we will play tug of war, and when I finally let him get the toy, we play fetch. I love to race after my toy, snatch it up, and race back to him to play some more ferocious rounds of tug.

I am ashamed to admit that I usually get tuckered out before him. But in my defense, Dad is just standing there, while I running around like a mad Beagle.

But the other night something awesome and wonderful happened. I won! I wore Dad out! We played and played and played and he finally let go of my toy, patted my back and said those glorious words everyone wants to hear.

"You win!"

I did try to get him to keep playing, more to prove to him that I was no where near done, but he was tuckered out this time, and settled down on the couch to watch TV.

I am the winner. And it feels great!