A Halloween to Remember

Back in 2002, the Mrs. and I were eagerly anticipating Halloween. This was pre-Olivia and pre-June, and we were celebrating our first Halloween in our first house. In our years of apartment living, we never had trick-or-treaters, so this was going to be a lot of fun for us.

We decorated the house, we lit our jack-o-lanterns, we got a big bowl full of candy, and we settled in for a great evening of kids coming to the door, dressed as all sorts of things, handing them candy, and enjoying the smiles on their faces. We were giddy with anticipation, wondering how many little boys and girls would come to our new house.

It wasn't long until we got our very first trick-or-treater. She was a cute little girl, probably 6 or 7 years old, blonde hair, all dressed up in a 1950's style pink poodle skirt. Her hair, shoes, sweater, bows in her hair.....it was all vintage 1950's. We watched her walk up our driveway, a little nervous about leaving her mother behind at the sidewalk, but with some coaxing from mom, she worked up the courage to approach our front door and ring the doorbell.

Two things I should probably make clear at this point. First, our front door was open, and our storm door is all glass, top to bottom.

Second, we had a dog named Bronson, who we had adopted from a shelter earlier in the year. This was his first Halloween with us, too. He was a Chow mix, weighing in at around 80 lbs. He had the Chow hair and the Chow tongue, but we guessed he was mixed with a Golden Retriever because he stood taller than a Chow and had more of a Golden Retriever snout. He also had a Golden Retriever temperament. Real sweet dog.

He had one bad habit, though. He had a thing about doorbells. If he heard a doorbell--even if it was on TV--he took off, full-bore, toward the front door, barking a ferocious bark and baring teeth. We kind of liked that about him, since burglars and door-to-door salesmen wouldn't know what a good dog he actually was.

We hadn't made the connection yet, though, as to how that would work on Halloween.

So back to the story. Cute little nervous Poodle Skirt Girl, not entirely sure about being about 15 feet away from her mom on the sidewalk, works up all the courage she has in the world to ring our doorbell in hopes of a Tootsie Pop or a little bag of M&M's or something for her cute little purse that was doubling as a candy holder.

DING DONG.

Bronson was in the back bedroom at the time. Simultaneously, as the Mrs. was opening the ceiling-to-floor glass storm door to give Poodle Skirt Girl some candy, Bronson came barreling around the corner, teeth bared, thunderous bark in full force, headed straight for the "intruder" at the front door.

That poor little girl. This is probably all she saw.



I'll give her credit. Poodle Skirt Girl was quick. Her first few steps were in reverse, about as fast as I've ever seen anyone run backwards. A look of absolute terror was plastered on her face, and she was so startled that she jerked her purse up in the air, flinging already-collected candy everywhere. She probably peed herself, but she wasn't sticking around to let anyone see for sure. That little girl's feet probably touched our driveway twice--three times, max--as she set a new world record for the 100-meter dash. Something between a scream and bawling was coming out of her mouth. Her mom flashed us a quick dirty look and then set off to try to catch her daughter.

Bronson, meanwhile, had stopped right at the storm door. He always did. He never shot out the front door. But of course, Poodle Skirt Girl didn't know that. He stopped barking and seemed kind of baffled as to why a potential little playmate was running away so quickly.

The Mrs., feeling awful about what had just happened, scrambled to scoop up some of the girl's lost candy, and then tried to catch up to her about seven houses down the street when the little girl finally stopped running. The Mrs. apologized profusely to the little girl and to her mother, and in an attempt to make amends, dumped our entire supply of candy into a bag for Poodle Skirt Girl to take home.

The Mrs. came home, we shut off our porch light, and pretended we weren't home for the rest of the night.

For each of the following seven years, every Halloween, we'd sit on lawn chairs in the driveway and pass out candy. Bronson stayed inside and watched out the front window, but as long as no one was ringing the doorbell, he didn't really make a fuss. Some years, it was really nice outside, especially for late October in Indiana. Some years, it was really cold. But we bundled up, got under a big thick blanket, and toughed it out. A couple years, it rained on us. Didn't matter. There would be no more little Poodle Skirt Girl incidents.

Bronson went to the big field in the sky this spring. It just recently occurred to me that we can actually stay inside this year and distribute candy like normal people. I don't know if we will, though. I've kind of gotten used to sitting out in the driveway all night.

As for Poodle Skirt Girl, I have no idea what ever became of her. She's probably thousands of dollars into therapy by now. Poor kid. We still feel bad about that night.

Happy Halloween, everyone. Be safe and have fun as you trick-or-treat. But remember as you ring someone's doorbell...they may have a Bronson, too.






Rest in peace, buddy.