By Mike Maddock Several factors were cause for concern when my three kids, two dogs, and I ventured into the neighborhood this past Halloween night.

First, due to her age, my oldest daughter was tight–roping the line between cute, costumed cherub, and creepy kid just looking for some free Snickers. Second, my son, the baby, decided to be a good old–fashioned ghost. We cut some holes in a sheet, put it over his head, and immediately discovered he was not going to be able to walk and see at the same time. My youngest daughter volunteered a headband that held the sheet in place, but the headband made him look more like a Saudi prince, than Casper the friendly ghost.

The final factor was my Cocker Spaniel and Bassett Hound. Usually, they run free in the backyard. So the last time they went for a walk was Halloween, 2008. Needless to say, my dogs are not too leash savvy, and once they get going, they crisscross more than a strand of DNA. My dogs also have zero ability to pace themselves. They came out of the gates like racehorses, but by the end of the night, I was pulling them like a couple of wet sandbags.

I did relax a bit after a successful trip to our neighbor’s house, but the next house was known for handing out Bible verses instead of Reese’s Cups. Still my kids wanted to give it a shot.

As I waited at the street, I was happy to see handfuls of candy as opposed to slips of paper, but my Cocker Spaniel did not understand why she had to wait at the street while my kids were getting treats. She lunged backwards, thrashed like a great Blue Marlin at the end of fishing line, and freed herself from the leash. As I lunged forward to grab her, I fell over the Bassett Hound and landed on my shoulder in the sidewalk. Wincing in pain,

did manage to grab the Cocker Spaniel while doing my best Yosemite Sam imitation. I’m afraid my mouth may have inadvertently caused the Bible verses to return next year. To make matters worse, as

fussed and cussed at the Cocker Spaniel and returned her to the leash, I did not notice the Bassett Hound prancing up the sidewalk to get his own treat. I still don’t know how he got free.

Things calmed a bit after that, and my kids got down to the business of serious trick–or–treating, and despite the surprising number of dark doors, they had full buckets before we were halfway through the neighborhood.

The Halloween traditions were firmly in place as well. My oldest daughter continued to shine our flashlight directly in the face of every passing fellow trick–or–treater despite my protests. The dad on a four–wheeler cruising by with a trailer–full of kids made a comment about my son’s costume, and the lady a few streets over who does a better witch than Margaret Hamilton (the wicked witch of the west) handed out two–year–old, inedible candy bars.

I wasn’t concerned anymore when we finally got done. My shoulder hurt, but I wasn’t sure if it was from falling over the dogs or pulling them home. It didn’t really matter. I had survived another Halloween, the game was on, and my kids had enough candy to last them until next year.