Happy Halloweens, Sad Halloweens

So this year, we have a Halloween that’s, to put it mildly, not going to be like any Halloween that any of us can recall. (If you remember the Halloween that occurred during the 1918 flu pandemic, then you may be some manner of cyborg. And you’re almost certainly not reading this blog.) Around here, during Dennis’s tenure, we stopped greeting trick-or-treaters at the door, because all the doorbell-ringing and apparitions loudly shouting “Trick or treat!” really freaked the poor boy out, even when he was in the back bedroom; instead, we would put out a box of candy on the front windowsill, and operate on the honor system, whereby nobody took the box and just dumped the entire thing into their bag. Most years that worked out fine. I have no idea what to expect in the way of trick-or-treaters this year, but we’ll be putting the box out again, and probably leaving it there until the sun has a chance to disinfect it the next day.

For us, though, Halloween is mainly associated with two things: Tucker’s birthday in 1998, and the day Dennis had to go to the Rainbow Bridge in 2018: Two events, exactly 20 years apart, that, for now at least, mark the bookends of our experience as vizsla owners. So this year I thought it would be nice to have a couple of little retrospectives of Tucker and Dennis to mark these two very different sorts of anniversaries.

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My Cup Runneth Empty

Charlee: “We were just kidding about the stink. You smell terrific.”
Skunk: “Yeah? What terrific thing do I smell like?”
Spicoli: “Patchouli. Or maybe pizza. Or maybe pizza with patchouli on top.”
Vermin: “HISSS! Like freshly roasted ticks!”
Lulu: “Like something I found in the yard that I want to roll in.”
Mr. Nibbles: “Like a fresh load of wood chips in the bottom of a guinea pig pen.”
Mouse: “Like cheese. But not the stinky kind.”
Producer Smurf: “Like Papa Smurf’s beard!”
Chaplin: “Like the inside of an ice cream cup that’s been on somebody’s head for a while.”
Skunk: “You are such a bunch of liars.”

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Woodland Creatures

Producer Smurf: “So, fellow woodland creature, what smurfs you into the house for a visit?”
Skunk: “I was invited in for cat food. Also, you may. not be aware of this, but it’s not exactly a woodland around these parts.”
Chaplin: “Why are you calling Charlee a ‘woodland creature’? Cats are from the desert.”

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