He needed the perfect throwing pumpkin, all the ones in the patch were big, round, carving pumpkins. He needed a rotten, wormy, deformed throwing pumpkin. He had to uphold his duty as a scarecrow and the crows just weren’t scared of him anymore. He found a nice one, its insides spilling out a rotten hole on it’s side. He looked for a nice target. Perfect, the lady with her husband and little girl. They were taking his precious pumpkins, even worse than the crows and bugs and mice. He lugged the rotten lump over his head and it landed with a splat in front of the girl. She jumped and looked up at him. He froze in his classic scarecrow position, arms out, head up, eyes blank. The little girl shrugged and kept browsing the patch. He pulled another rotten one up and sailed it through the air to the family. It hit the mother’s shoe. She shook it in disgust and looked at him. He froze again, facing the other way this time. She watched longer than the child and he could feel her eyes leave him after a solid 30 seconds. He nabbed a smaller pumpkin that had just began to brown. It smacked right into the husband and hit him in the chest. This time everyone turned towards him, and once again he froze. The dad scowled and directed the mother and child out of the field towards the petting zoo. The scarecrow smiled a hay-filled smile. He was a good scarecrow.