Last night my family had their annual Halloween party. Things started pretty well then took a turn for the dramatic and emotional worse.
Then ended well. Okay, well-ish.
Let’s get the story started.
It was some time after the holiday-themed bingo game and about 5ish glasses of sangria for myself that a few people started gathering their things and leaving. Some at the party were non-family members, first time attendees, so I don’t blame them for not realizing our dogs, in their excitement for adventure, will try to go out the front door when you open it.
So as Ricky and I were walking in the front room, a guest warned us that she thought she just saw one of our dogs in the front yard.
At first I was like, the dog is probably just across the street near the neighbor’s fence. So, we walk out there (and at this point it’s about 10 at night, so I’m using my sangria night vision to find the dog), trespass into the neighbor’s yard and start peeking around. No Sirius (my dog’s name.)
I ask my cousin and his group of friends, who were standing out by his truck in the driveway, if they saw Sirius, but no luck. Mostly I was met with awkward silence and expressions of incomprehension, so I’m not entirely sure they knew what a dog was.
At this point, I’m pissed. Because there were people standing out here. The sangria blocks the logical part of my brain that argues it’s dark and Sirius is a smaller dog, with dark fur and it’s pretty possible no one did see him walking around. The wine saturated part of my brain says, “Fuck that! They should have seen him with their night goggles!”
And I start working myself up in the only way I know how—insulting people’s intelligence under my breath as I use the f-word. Unfortunately when you’ve been drinking and playing holiday-themed bingo games, you’re so revved up it’s difficult to control the octave of your voice.
So, I dropped the f-bomb in front of relatives and my friend’s religious mother.
My cousin starts down the street with a flashlight while Ricky and I search the yard and my dad’s barn. Then, my mother comes running out in her witch’s costume crying hysterically. My dad and her take off on the golf cart to cover the surroundings since our dog has decided to embark on some grand, “Homeward Bound" adventure.
The Halloween party is now a search party. Everyone’s calling the dog’s name, he’s not coming, so now I assume he’s dead and this is the worst night ever. My cousin is diligently searching, but his friends are laughing about The Search. (In hindsight, it was funny. But you don’t laugh when the person who invited you into her home is crying and clearly upset. This is why I used the f-word.)
Now, there’s weirdos in costumes showing up in back yards yelling, “Sirius!” and neighbors coming out of their houses like, “Uh, what the hell?” A neighbor even took to his golf cart to search this field across the street and down by the lake. In my haste to find the dog, I forgot part of my costume involved binoculars (I was Suzy Bishop, but to family members I was Nancy Drew or a 60s schoolgirl since absolutely no one got it) and I didn't even think to use them once. What a waste.
Eventually, my brazen, sassy attitude leaves and I’m left with a pouting little girl who just lost her dog. And I start tearing up. It’s been 30 minutes and it’s nighttime and we’ve searched EVERYWHERE and we can’t find him. People even started removing parts of their costumes because shit was getting real.
Then, my aunt gets a phone call. Sirius is back at the house. Apparently, he just came running up the front porch and was all like, “What’s up?!”
And at this point, everyone’s tired and emotionally drained and left with mixed feelings and confusion over how much fun they had at the party.
It was a great way to kick off the holiday season.
Happy Halloween :)