Tag Archives: Halloween

Skunk Boy meets the Owl Woman

The  Skunk Boy has been busy building up to Halloween.  On Thursday, we went trick-or-treating among the businesses in town. On Friday, we went to a Halloween science exhibit. Our little pole cat was involved in a three-way tie in the cutest costume contest. Way to go, Skunk Boy!

On Saturday afternoon, we enjoyed an event at the nature center. The boy was not sick of his costume yet. He seemed quite comfortable in his skunk skin, although the skunk cap did tend to get a bit warm.

The event highlight was a hayride, which consisted of some sort of all-terrain vehicle pulling a large utility cart lined with bales of straw. We were satisfied with this; the way led through the woods on narrow trails, and, face it, a ride is a ride.

Skunk costume halloween

Skunk Boy plants himself next to the “Hayrides” sign and patiently awaits his turn. It’s refreshing to witness such civilized behavior from a skunk.

The tour guide in our hay wagon/utility cart was dressed up in a costume as well. “Can you tell what I’m dressed as?” she asked the group as we eased forward.

She had layers of textured patches, in varying shades of brown, covering her torso and a patchy hood over her head. “A crazy homeless hoarder woman?” I guessed under my breath.

“That’s right! I’m an owl!” she announced with glee. Apparently, some of the children had busied themselves with being perceptive during my gratuitous mumbling.

She sure knew enough about owls to be one. She told us all about owls: how their talons are sharp and strong, how they swoop down upon their prey. “What do owls eat?” she asked.

The kids tossed out animal names: squirrels, rabbits, mice, etc. I looked at my son. “Skunks,” I added. The boy laughed. It’s easy to laugh when you are a mondo skunk and think you’re too heavy to be carried off.

“Some owls are strong enough to carry a small deer,” our guide helpfully informed us. My son’s smile faded.

“But they would never do that,” she added and my son breathed easy, “under normal conditions.” Normal conditions? Is a 44-pound skunk riding on a bale of straw in a utility cart pulled by all-terrain vehicle a normal condition to an owl? Or is that just the kind of sight that gets owls thinking that it might be nice to do a little power lifting and bag a Guinness Book skunk? Imagine being four and trying to figure that out.

boy in skunk costume riding kayak

An owl would never pluck a skunk out of the kayak he was paddling on dry land . . . under normal conditions.

Our path led into the woods, which seemed to lessen the danger of owl attacks. The novelty of seeing spooky decorations hanging from the trees distracted us from further thoughts of owl massacres.

When we emerged into the clearing again, the giant owl at the back of our cart was still talking about owl eyes and hunting schedules. These owls will go on and on about themselves. My boy was no longer concerned.

“Owls hunt at night. That makes them what?” the owl lady asked.

I nudged my son for an answer. “Nocturnal,” he yawned. Riding without a care in the afternoon sun, he had already figured that out.

Halloween II: Sins of the father

I wrote previously about my son’s refusal to say “Trick-or-Treat” while trick-or-treating. It’s only fair that I now document my own awkward behavior during trick-or-treat.

Fathers aren’t supposed to try to live vicariously through their sons until the kids are at least old enough to start playing organized sports. I may have jumped the gun a little bit.

At Halloween, our neighborhood is a veritable land of milk (duds) and (bit-o) honey. There are mounds of candy out there for the taking. Naturally, I want my son to get the most out of the bounty that has been provided for his trick-or-treating pleasure.

When I was a kid, I could only dream of a place like this. My neighborhood consisted of two nearby houses (from one of them, I was sure to score a nice, healthy apple). Trick-or-treating was done by car. We had a regular route that took us to about 10 houses in the surrounding countryside. I could have carried all the candy I got in my pockets.

Mohawk Valley, New York

Beautiful scenery, yes. But none of those trees give out candy on Halloween.

Last year was my son’s first year of real trick-or-treating. I made sure that we began early enough so we could haul in a respectable load of loot. I didn’t account for tired arms or sore feet.

About 40 minutes into the night, the boy asked me to carry his plastic, candy-holding pumpkin. “It’s getting too heavy,” he complained.

The child inside of his father was tempted to upbraid him for such a complaint born of luxury. “My pumpkins were never too heavy,” this inner child wanted to say. “You know why? Because they never had any candy in them. And, what’s more, my pumpkins were grocery bags.” I beat down that inner child, patted my boy on the head, and helped him with his pumpkin.

A little while later, as I was making a mental map of all the streets we’d yet to hit, my son asked if we could go home. “My feet hurt,” he said. By now, I had conquered that ugly inner child, but the father still wanted more for his boy, even if it were only more chances at tooth decay. It was his due, and somehow that made it my due, albeit long-deferred.

“Don’t you want to go to just a few more houses?” I asked. “We can get more candy.” I’m sure I meant that he could get more candy, but that’s the way it came out.

“No,” he said. “I just want to go home.” Halloween was in danger of turning sour on him. No one remembers a death march fondly.

batman posing with his dad

“There’s no room in my pumpkin for your childhood regrets, Daddy.”

Since his feet were already sore, I didn’t make him carry my childhood baggage anymore. I took him home, but the whole way I made note of each of the houses we had missed. He had all the candy he needed, and more. Yet I found myself counting the missed opportunities. I wonder if I’ll behave better this year.

If you give a skunk a candy bar

My son wants to be a skunk for Halloween. He’s been fascinated with skunks for the past several months. Skunks are cool because they can spray animals and people who attack them, scold them for being naughty, or tell them it is time for bed. Getting sprayed by a skunk is nasty business; the animals that attack skunks, and the people who send them to bed, should learn to cease such provocative behaviors.

skunk in the wild

Nobody dares try to make this bad boy go to bed when he’s not even tired. That alone makes him the coolest animal in the world. (Image: C.J. Henry/U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service)

The only creature that could possibly be cooler than a skunk would an animal that carries a BB gun, or maybe one that holds down its adversaries and farts on them. It’s hard to get the better of a skunk. To a four-year-old, constrained by household rules and vulnerable to attack from monsters and other predators, the feisty little polecat is naturally an admirable animal. Skunks take guff from nobody.

The boy has made it clear that he wants his skunk costume to have spraying capabilities. He has discussed this with his mother already. She has provided numerous suggestions about how this effect could be engineered. The only thing she couldn’t tell me was how the skunk costume itself was to be produced. She thought she might leave that one, inconsequential detail to me.

Further to the logistics of a successful trick-or-treat, the boy wants to know who is going to say “Trick-or-Treat” when the neighbors answer their doors on Halloween, because it will not be him. “I’ll ring the doorbell,” he conceded, “but I’m not saying Trick-or-Treat.”

Last year, he went trick-or-treating with his friend. His friend was eager to say “Trick-or-Treat” at every house. This relieved my son of the burden of having to do it, while teaching him a dubious lesson. Now he knows that the kid next to the kid who says “Trick-or-Treat” gets just as much candy without doing any of the work. This is unless you count ringing the bell as work, which it isn’t, because they argued at every house over who got the ring the bell.

batman standing under giant cat

Last year it was Batman who wouldn’t say “Trick or Treat.” People gave him candy anyway, probably out of gratitude for his commitment to keeping the citizens safe from crime. That skunk had better start building up the good will pretty quickly.

This Halloween, if you open your door to find a mute, 44-inch-tall skunk standing next to the kid who says “Trick-or-Treat,” there are some things you might consider. First, stand back. We’re not yet sure of the direction in which the costume will spray. Nor can we tell precisely what it will spray. Secondly, don’t insist that this child say “Trick-or-Treat.” He’s a strong-willed skunk with a hair-trigger sprayer. It’s probably best if you don’t even make eye contact.

If you want to teach that little skunk a lesson about being a trick-or-treat freeloader, locate the bespectacled, balding man who is waiting for the children at the curb. Toss the skunk’s candy to him, because he likes candy too. Then, leap back into your home and slam the door shut, before anybody has time to line you up in their spray sights. That will teach that little skunk.