pumpkins have personalities, and some are evil...

 Rosie the Dog has become so easy to write about that I think I could write a whole novel about her--something Marley & Me-esque has been a long time coming, and no dog film since has done it justice. I suppose I will take on the duty myself like the good Samaritan that I am. Thus begins the next chapter of her adventures--the pumpkin patch. 

Chet and I were out and about at the Dallas Farmers Market a couple of weeks ago, enjoying some tacos and margaritas from our favorite little taco shop. We had found a picnic table next to some bushes that Rosie enjoyed laying in, sniffing, and, subsequently, getting leaves caught in her fur, which is one of her favorite past-times. Unfortunately, these leaves and branches usually end up coming home with us, and adding to the collection littering the apartment floor. She also loves to collect burrs. Across the street from the Farmers Market was a pop-up pumpkin shop that we decided to wander over to. First and foremost, we put Rosie on the hay bale pictured above and had a photoshoot--even with her cast and cone, she is the most photogenic dog in the whole world. She always poses for pictures, as demonstrated. After filling up our camera rolls, we strolled into the patch and started perusing the pumpkins. Rosie had never seen a pumpkin before, and had a very curious reaction. 

As she trotted up and down the aisles, we assumed she was normal happy Rosie the Dog. But this was because she had not yet in her young life gotten close to a pumpkin. The first time she decided to approach one, she sniffed it, then jumped back, ears perked and tail raised, and barked at it. Chet and I looked at each other and began to laugh, then asked Rosie what was wrong, and why was she acting so cowardly towards a gourd? She looked at us sheepishly, ashamed for her phobia, and decided, for her parents, she would try again. She eased her way towards the pumpkin slowly, alertly, ready to attack (or hide behind us) at any second. Finally, once she decided it was safe, she sniffed it again. And again, she jumped back. This routine happened four to five times in succession before Chet and I decided the pumpkin must have some sort of evil spirit within its delicious guts unbeknownst to the human nose, and we took Rosie home, away from the spooky scary pumpkin. 

I suppose plants do have personalities, and that's what draws us to them. For example, I own a Venus Fly Trap because I think it's clever, but to others, it could be grotesque. The same way flowers connotate love and affection, and vines connotate age, maybe, to dogs, pumpkins connotate fear. Upon further thinking, I suppose pumpkins connotate fear to humans, too--they are used to make Jack-O-Lanterns, after all. The pumpkin we pick to carve is picked for its personality. Some are picked to be silly, some are picked to be evil, and some are picked to just be decoration. Each is its own entity, and should be treated as such. So, Rosie is a genius, after all. As per usual.