Count Rotto Says It's Time for a Trick or Treat 🐾🐾

Trick or Treat.

 I, Rotto, could definitely get in the treat part of this festival. What's there not to love? My costume wasn't too bad, a perky red collar with a cape. And it came with an awesome name.

Move over Dracula— I'm Count Rotto!

I, Rotto, I'm just little, but that Count part makes me sound grand, majestic even. But that wasn't the best part — if I understood this Halloween business correctly, I would sit on the front porch, be the best boy I could be, and in turn, people would worship me and give me treats. And if they didn't, then I'd get to play tricks on them. Happy, happy Halloween. 

It sounded like a win, win situation.

I thought it would be kind of like when the Woolies deliveryman brings the shopping to the door, and I get to snuffle about and find the shopping bag with my treats amongst a whole bunch of stuff that's NOT for me, but better … because you know, Halloween is all about the treats.

I was sitting waiting, waiting, then finally. Two kids in costumes walked up the street. They stopped, looked at our decorations then they marched up my driveway. "Trick or Treat!" they gleefully yelled. This was my moment— it was treat time! I gave them a welcoming woof. 

"Treat," I woofed! "Always a treat!" Because treats are my favorite. 

But then, you won't believe what happened— those kids reached into the bowl on MY porch wall, and they TOOK a treat. Wait. What? I looked at my people. This couldn't be right? Could it? 

Surely my people were going to give me the command. Any second now, they'd say, "Rotto, this is an outrage! Go! Run! Fetch back our treats. Run down the driveway and tell those naughty rascals off." That would be the perfect answer to these terrible shenanigans. But no. Instead, my people called out, "Happy Halloween!"

I, Rotto, have never been so indignant in all my life. And I certainly was not having the happy Halloween I'd been expecting. 

So I let out a bit of a rumble in protest. My people told me it was okay. To settle down. But it was far from alright! And if you think that was bad, all afternoon people kept coming, one after the other. A steady stream of people — and they kept taking treats, every single one of them. Sure they spoke to me. They said I was handsome, or a good-looking little man, and that I looked adorable in my costume, and then they TOOK a treat. 

Nobody GAVE me a treat. Not once. Take, take, take. 

Yeah, yeah, my people gave me a little treat every time someone came. So long as I didn't bark at anybody wearing a costume, but that's their job. My people are supposed to provide me with an abundance of treats. It's written in stone somewhere. I was expecting treats from random strangers. Instead, the treats were practically growing legs and walking down the driveway, and there was nothing I, Rotto, could do about it. 

I, Rotto — I don't know what my people were thinking! Who gives away treats?

Things clearly didn't go to plan for me on Halloween. But it's okay. I've got a new plan. I've got a birthday coming up. Surely that means everyone will bring me treats, right? Toys or treats, I'm not fussed. They all sound good. So long as they are for me. 

We can call it the Festival of Rotto. (I did consider Rottoween but I’m worried the whole ‘treats going’ saga might be repeated – Festival of Rotto leaves no room for doubt!) Alert the papers, make it a national holiday. I can get on board with that. Especially if there are treats with my name on them.

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Rotto is a two-year Staffy Kelpie cross. He lives with his two favorite people and his sister Chilli, a Red Heeler.