I came down the stairs, saw my wife and Butch standing by the door, and knew I had to at least try to put an end to this madness.
“You’re going to let him go out like that in public?” I asked, motioning toward Butch.
“Well, yes, why not?” Terri said.
“You realize it will be a source of never-ending abuse and suffering for him?”
Butch shifted nervously and looked at me, his eyes wide with fear, and a little watery.
“And you realize it’s Halloween,” Terri said.
I shook my head and said, “I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
“He’s Superman,” Terri said, as if I couldn’t tell by the costume. “What’s the big deal?”
“He’s a Beagle,” I said.
Terri shook her head like I just didn’t get it. I didn’t.
“Everyone is dressing up their pet. It’s the big thing,” she said. “People are spending like $500 million on costumes for their pets.”
“Look at him,” I urged her. “Please, just look at him.”
Butch was looking up at me, big eyes that were asking for help. His little legs were inside the costume, the blue Superman shirt over his chest with the big red and yellow “S.” The cape was draped over the rest of his body. And I mean the rest of his body.
“He looks adorable,” Terri said. “A bunch of us in the neighborhood are going to meet and take our pets while we walk with the kids.”
Butch was still staring up at me. It was breaking my heart. He looked to me to lay down the law of the house, and here I was letting him down. I wanted to tell him I was trying, trying my hardest.
“He’s crying out for help,” I said.
“That’s his happy look,” Terri said.
“No, his happy look usually makes him look…you know, happy. He looks scared and depressed. He knows the other dogs are going to be brutal to him once they get a look at him.”
“Oh, nonsense.”
“That old Lab down the street, the one that always sniffs Butch’s butt for too long? You know what that’s going to look like once that dog gets under Butch’s cape? It’s going to look like someone’s got their head up Superman’s –“
“Oh, come on now,” Terri said, interrupting.
“Is this some kind of Millennial thing?” I asked. “You know, dressing pets up. They get blamed for everything.”
“Not that I know of,” Terri said. “You should join us. I’m sure some of the guys will go.”
“No, I don’t think so. To participate would make us complicit in the humiliation of our pets. I’m pretty sure most of the guys will stay back, wishing we had a support group or something to lean on.”
Terri went to the kitchen and I squatted down to get close to Butch. “Look, I am so sorry about this,” I said. “I had no idea.” I was rubbing behind his ears. I had a hard time making eye contact with him. He looked so utterly ridiculous in this getup.
He heard Terri getting his leash and he waddled away from me. I watched him make his way down the hallway to the kitchen. He could barely move in his Superman costume, and he definitely wasn’t flying anywhere. Superman wasn’t saving anyone tonight. I sighed.
“Are you going to be okay,” Terri asked from behind me.
I stood up and shook my head. “I was thinking, it’s just so unfortunate. At a time when the world needs real heroes, we’re dressing up our dogs.”
“You’ve either been drinking or watching cable news again,” she said.
The doorbell rang. Butch whimpered. The humiliation was beginning.
“Oh, that’s Cheryl, she’s bringing Pawsy over for trick-or-treating with Butch,” Terri said.
Pawsy was our neighbor’s Pug. Terri opened the door and there were shrieks of delight and excitement from her and Cheryl. Butch whimpered. Out in the street the first trick-or-treaters were on the move. I strained to look past the ladies to see where Pawsy was hiding. I followed the leash but it disappeared behind Cheryl. Maybe Pawsy had slipped his collar and was scurrying home, or in hiding until Halloween passed.
“How’s Pawsy doing?” I asked.
“Take a look,” Cheryl said, stepping up into the house and leading Pawsy in.
“Oh, good heavens,” I said, a touch too loud.
Pawsy was dressed as a tractor-trailer. His squished-in little face the grill of the truck. He could barely move.
“He’s a Mack truck,” Cheryl said.
“Ohhhhhh,” Terri squealed. “How cute.”
“Mack has a dog for their symbol,” Cheryl said.
“It’s a bulldog,” I said. “Mack’s symbol.”
“We thought it would be so perfect,”Cheryl said, ignoring me.
Terri ran to the kitchen and came back with two little plastic jack-o’-lantern things and gave one to Cheryl. “I got these for Butch and Pawsy, for their treats.”
I looked down at the dogs as the ladies stepped out into the night. Pawsy appeared to be the slowest moving tractor trailer in the history of moving vehicles. Superman, well, he didn’t look too super himself.
Butch glanced back at me, made eye contact, then turned away. “Useless,” I thought I heard him say.