not the usual haunts
Halloween has a lot of nerve showing up in the middle of a workweek. How many spooky shenanigans can the Fitzgerald family possibly embark upon...on a Tuesday??? Then again, as they always say, when life gives you lemons, stretch the holiday out like a ghoulish game of tug-of-war with caramel-coated ectoplasm. (Or maybe it was something about lemonade.)
Having no desire to sip cool, citrusy libations on a morning cold enough to freeze the breath of a raging dragon, we opted for the former advice, seeking out an entirely new adventure on Sunday, then spreading the distribution of toys and treats over our lunch breaks for the next two days. One way or another, we’d give our pup an enchanting Halloween, and she was hardly likely to grumble if it arrived in three parts.
October 29th was a day that awoke in true Halloween spirit. It draped itself in an impossibly blue sky, capped off with an impossibly bright sun. But the frosty bite in the air revealed the ensemble to be nothing more than a deception, a cunning costume fit for the occasion. Yes, October the 29th may have been masquerading as Summer, but we weren't about to play along. Dennie and I greeted our inaugural day of festive fun disguised as a pair of dog-walkers wrapped in triple layers of winter-woolly warmth topped off with cold-shielding hats and gloves. Apparently, many other park-goers had been similarly inspired.
Many years ago, we used to live adjacent to the wetlands, with miles of maple-lined sidewalks surrounding the habitat and providing an exquisite daily walk route for us and our Labrador/Great Pyrenees mix, Sadie. At that time, the twenty-five acre park that has since emerged was not yet a spark in someone’s mind. Today, it is, for local residents, one of the most popular destinations, boasting just about any kind of dry-land recreational activity you could imagine, from play and fitness pursuits to special tracks and equipment for thrill-seekers far braver and more agile than us. This is where we hiked away the hours of our Sunday afternoon. In the spring, summer, or early fall, the wetlands are a sensory wonder, filled with tall grasses and wildflowers softly rustling in the breeze, majestic herons swooping into ponds or standing still as statues, eagles and falcons circling above as voles, mice, and rabbits run for cover, all set against the trademark cre-eek, cre-eeking of the Pacific tree frogs. We look forward to taking Maisie back there again when the wildlife and wildflowers return to the marshes. For now, where fragrant life once bloomed, the frost has left only browned and deadened stalks. Its icy fingers have plucked the trees of their harvest-hued leaves and compelled many of the birds and animals into hiding. But, despite its winter dormancy, the new park still rated an astonishing discovery as our bandana-clad shepherd-beagle guided us from trail to trail, footbridge to footbridge. And, once we'd walked the entire grounds, for the second time that day, we asked Maisie her preferred variety of question--the kind that begins with, "Do you want to go...?"
In the morning, that sentence had concluded with to the park. Our dog's response was as enthusiastic as ever, possibly more so as she doesn't usually comically yowl a complaint that it's taking us too long to open the door. With the word shopping, she smiled and pranced her way back to the car, tail wagging wildly, though we don't know if she truly remembered what shopping was. We hadn't escorted Maisie into any retail establishment in over five years. Nonetheless, she was thrilled to be going...somewhere again. Anywhere. (Except maybe the vet.) The three of us trekked every dog-appropriate aisle seeking the perfect plush Halloween surprise. To be more accurate, only the humans of our party were seeking the perfect plush Halloween surprise. Maisie was a lost cause. She had been irrevocably ensorcelled by the myriad treats and kibble bags tantalizing her tastebuds at the mouthwatering level of her muzzle. Our pet store quest ended more successfully than we'd anticipated. Not only did Maisie resist the dark side--never once attempting to abscond with anything that didn't belong to her--Dennie and I also found a precious seasonal toy (in addition to the one already waiting at home) and a plush Christmas dog with red and black buffalo plaid feet. Not that our girl needed another holiday present (I've had my Christmas shopping done for months), but our own need to buy it for her obviously could not be denied. Puppy pampering: a disorder for which there is no cure. (We hope.)
Webster defines Halloween as that momentous occasion upon which a lovely dog comes along to rescue and adore a wayward pig with an eccentric sartorial style. It should be noted that Webster has never picked up a dictionary in his life. He is also already missing the two fangs from his spider costume, a clear sign that Halloween is here and a lovely dog has come along to rescue and adore him. Setting aside the fact that our pup's porcine pal is an inanimate object stuffed with polyester fluff, Webster is free to define this day however he pleases. Maisie may too. I conjecture it's much like a second birthday to her. These doting parents, on the other hand, define Halloween as a time to regress into childhood fantasies, to treat our children (furry and non-furry alike) to something special, something generously sprinkled with sweet memories and bliss. And, in the event this day has the audacity to come knocking on a Tuesday, then it's a time to break away from our usual haunts and, throughout the preceding days, stretch and stretch that faux-fiendish felicity like a ghoulish game of tug-of-war with caramel-coated ectoplasm.