Protect the pumpkins

Wanted: Safe, loving adoptive home for adorable pumpkins and gourds, considered by one current owner to be part of the family and by the other to be tolerated until Halloween, and then --

"Then we should eat them," the Hero said.

He strongly believes that objects should have a practical function, not a strictly aesthetic one, although clearly this belief does not extend to his ancient gum ball machine that adorns the family room. Were it functional, anyone who tried the gum balls in it would soon require emergency dental services.

So the adorable pumpkins and gourds we have displayed for fall must, in the end, be useful in some way. Preferably to us, not simply to the wildlife.

I have thought about giving them names, in the hopes that the Hero might see them as pets of sorts and be less inclined to want to consume them. But this will not necessarily save them. How many children growing up on farms have discovered this harsh life lesson?

Mother:  Don't go naming the pigs, now.

Children: Oooo, they're so cute! Let's name this one Chloe, and that one can be Hank.

Mother: DON'T name the pigs.

Children (months later): What are we having for supper, Mama? Hey, where are Chloe and Hank...?

Mother: I TOLD you not to name the pigs.

So that strategy has been shown to be ineffective around those who are determined to have your beloved pet, or pumpkin, on the menu. Besides, the Hero and I tend to bestow names even on squashes that we fully intend to consume, such as our recent butternut-spaghetti squash pair we affectionately dubbed Bert and Ernie.

One day Bert sat on the counter, waiting to be transformed into butternut squash soup.

"Run, Bert!" the Hero said. "Now's your only chance!"

But Bert serenely sat, knowing that he was fulfilling his unique destiny -- that for this moment he had been created. Plus he had been created without any feet, so running was pretty much out anyway.

Ernie still awaits his fate. He too seems serene, although every now and then I seem to catch a bar or two of "On Top of Spaghetti," and I wonder whether Ernie is trying to become like the errant meatball in the song, somehow getting enough momentum to rock and fall off his perch onto the floor -- and eventually roll out the door.

But for the decorative pumpkins and gourds, something drastic is necessary. Like maybe the Witness Protection Program.