It was late at night, supposedly the heelers' last out for the night (But almost never is, now that the mother has gotten old... whining and pawing from the side of the bed in the middle of the night has become more and more common in the past year or so. Fortunately almost always on the wife's side of the bed...). I was out on the front walk, helping keeping an eye on things (The little maskless heeler is in heat again... gotta watch those horny little bitches, you know. There's a boy next door.), and the wife doing the same, standing on the porch, under the light.

Masked heeler was first back from doing her business, and dutifully waited at the bottom of the stairs for her mother. (Her sister, on the other hand, is on her own. The masked one'll march in and leave her outside alone without a thought.)

And I saw that look spring up on her face.

Intense, unblinking concentration. Staring catty-corner across the intersection. At Mrs. Humphrey's house, although she no longer lives there.

One of those fresh graves the wife and I encountered on our cemetery stroll.

A portly fellow's moving in this summer. I think with a wife, but I'm not sure. But see his little mopsy dog outside often, which he always steps out to watch when it's tending business. Just acquired a second, a pup, to keep the other company.

Now, most the time that look on the masked heeler's face is reserved for squirrels. But no squirrels out and about after dark. Too many owls. She's made that stare for a little mule deer buck, once, too. But usually, it's a cat.

I bend down and peek under the tree branches across the street.

No cat.

But she's locked her eyes on something. No blinking, no twitches. Whatever it is, it's there, and a concern.

I look again.

And see it.

A slim, human figure standing in the shadows, just off from the portly man's steps.

It's not moving. Just standing there in the shadow, facing out to the street. Half expected to see the little red glow of a cigarette, like in the movies, but no, this person's not moving. Can't tell if it's female or male, but I'm guessing male. And up to no good, obviously.

I quietly mention the man in the shadows to the wife, up on her higher perch. Grateful that we have heelers.

"You mean the scarecrow? she asks.

Oh, yeah.

Yeah, I knew that was there. Of course I did. Watched the new neighbor man out decorating for Hallowe'en, in fact, hanging neon green spiderweb all across his porch.

And setting the skinny scarecrow by the steps.

I recovered my composure extremely quickly, and just as quickly laughingly chided the silly dog for not knowing a stuffed mannequin when she sees one.

And hurried inside before the wife could say the same about me.