My Backyard

Everyone who knows me knows very well that I am not a “Halloween Person”. I don’t think I have ever been a “Halloween Person”. I would have to say that it is my least favorite day of the year, and no matter how hard friends and family try to convince me otherwise, I just can’t get myself into the festive spirit they all share. The task of dressing up in costume and walking around the neighborhood going door-to-door for candy just never swayed me into being a trick-or-treat fan.

That’s not to say that I haven’t enjoyed some parts of past Halloweens. When I was young my mother always took that night off from work to be home with us, prepared our favorite supper of hot dogs and beans, had us in our costumes and makeup by 5:30 p.m., ready to walk our quiet neighborhood and be home by 7:00 p.m. Then the four of us, my dad, my mom, my sister and me, would hop in the car and drive to my grandparent’s house, thrilled to hear them guess who was hiding under each year’s homemade costume. Once we had returned from the visit, jumped into the tub and got dressed into our pajamas, the four of us would check out the candy, discard anything that wasn’t sealed perfectly, didn’t pass my parents’ muster. It took a few years for me to figure out that my father always removed the Snickers bars from my “loot bag” because they were his favorite. I just assumed in my childish mind that he took those chocolates from my bag every year because they didn’t pass his candy test. (Silly me!)

After the Big Grownup and I became a family, Halloween resurfaced as an important night for our children, bringing the dilemma of costumes and nighttime jaunts back into the scheme of things. The Big Grownup, master “candy dispenser”, always got to stay home and man the knocks at our door, while I got to join the other moms in the neighborhood to wait at the end of each porch stair or sidewalk for my little ‘Rainbow Bright’ or ‘Dorothy’ or “Red Riding Hood’ to fill their plastic pumpkin with Hershey Bars or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups or M&M’s. All of our children grew up with the traditional hot dogs and bean supper, started in my youth, donned their costumes and makeup for the 5:30 exit to join the rest of the fairies and ghouls enjoying the dark and scary neighborhood festivities, were back at home and ready for the candy distribution by 8:00.

The Boy added some different costumes into the ‘Strawberry Shortcake’ and ‘Care Bear’ repertoire the Big Grownup and I were used to, mixed things up with his ‘Cowardly Lion’ and ‘Werewolf’ attire. And as luck would have it, the Boy relished the scary events so much that he insisted on wearing his masks long past Christmas. Come to think of it, I believe there is an Easter photograph of the four children in their lovely outfits, the three girls in pink dresses and the Boy in a blue suit, all of them staring directly into my camera, the girls all smiles and the Boy peering out from beneath his werewolf disguise.

The year that I was looking forward to the end of all things Halloween around our house, was the same year that Cody entered the family mix. He made Halloween important again, a day to make merry. We always celebrated his birthday on Halloween, since it was the day he came to live with us, share our lives and hearts. I remember answering all the trick-or-treaters at the door by myself that year while the Boy sat on the couch enjoying his brand-new brindled bundle of fur, the two of them cuddled up together watching something on television while the events of Halloween passed them by.

In the years that followed, Cody would stand at the living room window, trapped behind the glass, unable to reach all the children he so carefully watched over during the year, would bark his hellos while he watched them walking down the stairs of our front porch, candy-filled pumpkins in hand. He would be standing on his hind legs, his front paws on top of the radiator, his snout pressed up against the glass as he tried to get a better look at each ghoul, goblin, and princess traipsing up and down our sidewalk.

With the Girl married and the Boy away at college, Cody’s enthusiasm waned, and instead of all the barking, he took to lying on the floor in front of the television, his belly full from our hot dog supper, let the trick-or-treaters come and go without much ado. And of course, I was especially not looking forward to this Halloween, saw Cody’s birthday marked in red on the special day it fell on our calendar, didn’t know how it was going to pass muster since we are still sad even with a new puppy in the house to keep us distracted.

I decided to change things up a little bit, give Crocket her fair share of making Halloween memories of her very own. So away went the traditional hot dogs for supper, replaced instead with scrambled eggs and bacon, which Crocket shared in the kitchen with the Big Grownup while I passed out the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Hershey Bars to the plastic pumpkin-carrying guests at our front door. Unable to convince her once she finished her dinner that she didn’t need to bark so loud as each trick-or-treater approached our door, I finally had to pull the shade down, close the curtain over the window where Cody used to stand and greet our candy-seeking guests, so Crocket couldn’t look out and detect the neighborly visitors.

Crocket, not to be denied, bounced up on the living room couch and barked at her own reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. Each time the doorbell rang, off she went, full speed ahead, up on the cushions, barking at her own image in the glass. I laughed each time she did it, let her enjoy the thrill of being in charge, even if it was controlling something so small as her very own voice. She is our feisty Tennessee Plott Hound, and in her very own way she managed to take away the sadness, made Halloween a howling success. We have lots of candy left, so feel free to drop by with your plastic pumpkin and ring our bell. Don’t pay any attention to the barking dog. She won’t bother you-she’s too busy looking at her own reflection in the mirror!

Stay tuned.