This weekend was Punkin-pickin' time. It will be Thomas's fourth Halloween and Emmie's second, and I was really, REALLY excited about taking them to pick out our punkins - yeah, I said punkinS because who can really stop with just one?
I had visions of me carrying Thomas while Emmie toddled around pounding on various punkins, both of them just thrilled to be outside and helping me ready the front porch for Fall.
The plan fell apart a little when I realized that Emmie didn't want to walk, period. Something about the straw on the ground freaked her out and she wouldn't even stand up. Thomas had no problem with it and would have happily sat there throwing straw around for as long as we let him.
So, we did this.
We ended up with two tiny punkins, three smallish ones, one medium-sized and one HUGE one, the last one being the one I will eventually carve into a jack-o'lantern.
We brought them home and I began arranging them on the front porch and steps along with our two little straw-men, one of whom is on a stake so he can stand in the yard.
Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "stick up your ass".
Finally satisfied, I took the kids inside for naps and let the dogs out to play.
A bit later I went outside to admire my porch again (I know! I'm such a dork!) and Hey! What the? Some of my punkins are GONE. I was flummoxed. How on earth do punkins just disappear in the middle of the day? I hadn't been inside for more than a half an hour and the two tiny punks and one of the smallish ones - just NOT THERE ANYMORE. I started looking up and down the street thinking, I don't know, I was going to see some kids riding away on their bikes with my punky-punks and laughing?
About that time Jake The Bulldog comes lumbering around from the side of the house. He sees me and does that little head-duck thing that means he's up to no good and knows it. His lips are foamy and flecked with orange and Holy Crow, he ATE my punkins. I checked the yard and found a couple of stray seeds. Three of them. Gone. Stems and all. The gastrointestinal implications are unmistakable. That there dog was going to have one helluva bellyache.
Last night I related the story to Hubs and mentioned it might not be a great idea to feed Jake - maybe we should let his tummy rest a bit. Hubs was worried. Won't he be hungry? "Honey?" I said. "Do you REALLY think it's a good idea to load that particular gun?"
Jake will be spending LOTS of time outside for the next couple of days. Hopefully the remaining punkins are too big for him to carry off.