For those of who were South of the Border this week, here’s an update on Halloween. And not the good South of the Border in South Carolina with sombrero rides.
There’s an old Civil Was Fort behind our house that’s a good place to walk dogs on Sunday mornings because the squirrels are fat and lazy from their church pot luck lunches and there’s a good chance they can get caught and murdered in Brown Dog’s mouth. That’s right, we are back to hating squirrels.
This past Sunday, it was again an unsuccessful hunt for BD. But not for everybody. There’s some large raptor that also lives in the park and I witnessed with my own eyes it catch and destroy a squirrel for breakfast. It was Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom at its most satisfying.
Obviously, I’m still upset about this pumpkin thing from last week. While I doubt the squirrel that perished on Sunday was the one that butchered my project, I’m hoping that they were related. Perhaps a brother-in-law? But one that he had gotten really close to after his sister got married. He even asked him to be in his fantasy football league this year. And now every week there’s that painful reminder when his dead brother-in-law’s team loses because no one can figure out how to hack in and replace the players who have byes. I hope he makes the playoffs and knocks out the best team by accident even though he’s dead and in a falcon’s stomach.
Contrary to what some people may think and even say, AM did not win Halloween. Naturally, she had a good run even though at the end of the night she looked less like the Hipster Grifter and more like a hairy chested Spock offering oral handjobs. Up to last Saturday, she had things wrapped up. But then I got this:
I know last Saturday was technically a week after Halloween so many will argue that my entry is too late. But look at this thing! It looks like so many other things! So many other things that are not pumpkins! And I got it a place called Cox Farms!
I even saved it from a certain death. Kids were trying to throw it underneath a tractor in the hopes it would get squished. They cheered and hollered as other unloved pumpkins met their demise. But Ben and I used our magical powers to prevent it from getting slaughtered by a hayride. It danced like a wave on the ocean through dozens of passing wheels before I was able to rescue it.
Would you have thrown Klimt’s The Kiss under a tractor? No, you would have not. Especially if it looked like balls. Or boobs even. That’s why all kids are idiots.