Bugaboo Creek is a popular family restaurant in the northeast. Our family had never heard of it until we moved to Maine six years ago. Once my youngest son, Lindell, who was about 2- years-old at the time, learned that Bugaboo Creek had talking animals hanging on the wall, it became his favorite place.

Wait, that sounds weird: talking animals hanging on the wall. But it gets even creepier, thanks to me.

At our Bugaboo Creek, there is a giant moose, bear, buffalo and a woodpecker. They “come alive” intermittently and say things that don’t make them sound very smart. I don’t remember the exact words, so maybe it is the moose’s dopey-sounding voice that makes him seem like he’d spent his youth in detention. Also, it’s hard to hear what any of the animals say over the grinding, mechanical sound of the animatronics. In any case, the animals don’t talk anymore. (More on that in a minute.)

Bugaboo Creek was Lindell and my husband’s designated father-son place. Any time the two of them spent a day together, they ended up at Bugaboo Creek, mostly because Lindell would not eat anywhere else. Lindell talked more than a few babysitters into taking him to Bugaboo Creek, too. He claimed they have the best grilled cheeses on the planet, but really, I think he just wanted to hear the animals talk.

The first time I was invited to go to Bugaboo Creek with my boys and husband, I felt like I had been asked to join the boys-only club. They were going to allow me to join them at this fabled restaurant that I had begun to believe was like Rainforest Cafe. Lindell wanted us to sit with seats that had a good view of the moose. He giggled wildly every time one of the animals came to life.

Now remember, at this point, my children were quite young. Lindell was probably 3, Owen 7 and Ford 9. They had never watched Twilight Zone yet or read Edgar Allen Poe’s “Telltale Heart.” So it was a moment of weakness when I suddenly blurted out, “Aren’t the talking animals kind of creepy?”

Dustin tried to make eye contact with me to get me to stop talking. This was, after all, Lindell’s favorite place in the whole wide world.

“And their voices make them sound dumb,” I said.

Again, Dustin tried to catch my eyes. He abruptly put down his fork on his plate.

I went on. “What if somewhere, on some parallel planet, there is an animal restaurant with people stuck on the wall? The people would have to say dumb things like, ‘Is my zipper down?’ and ‘Does this track lighting make me look fat?’ And animals just sit in booths below them enjoying their bug juice and cricket burgers, or something.”

When I finished my little monologue, I looked around the table, and my family was staring at me with varying degrees of mortification and horror. I had just ruined Lindell’s talking animals and put creepy thoughts in Owen’s and Ford’s mind (people hanging from walls?). But Dustin’s look clearly said, “When these kids won’t go to sleep tonight, or for many nights in the future, you are staying up with them.”

I was not asked to go along for Bugaboo Creek nights again. Not for a long time, at least. But Dustin, the boys and our babysitters continued to go and enjoy their time there.

And then, this summer, after Lindell, now 7, spent a day cleaning his room, I promised to take him to Bugaboo Creek as a reward. I would venture again into the world of stuffed animals with nothing better to say than, “How’s the mashed potatoes?” While we waited at the hostess stand, Lindell fretted because none of the animals seemed to be coming to life. He wondered if they were broken. And then the hostess said these fateful words: “Oh, I’m sorry, the animals don’t talk anymore. The restaurant is going in a different direction now.”

Lindell turned around on his heel, waved to me over his shoulder and said, “Let’s go. I’m not eating here.” Which is to say, Bugaboo Creek had gone in a direction Lindell didn’t like.

But I do think my first episode at Bugaboo Creek has had a lasting impact on the boys. Just last week, Owen came home with a cartoon he’d drawn. The premise: what if apples had their own schools? Well, they’d bring a human to the teacher, of course. And Owen’s drawing showed exactly that—a human sitting on an apple-teacher’s desk. Creepy.