Yesterday evening my mom Cathy decided we should go to the Folk Festival for my evening walk. We’re just ten minutes away, by foot and paw.
“We should take advantage of Seattle,” Cathy said.
Good! I love festivals:
- Lots and lots of people (so I get tons of attention – one total stranger gave me a full-body massage)
- Lots of food on the ground so I can nibble my way through the park
- It’s easy to steal food from somebody who’s balancing a paper plate and a drink on the grass
- Lots of dogs (so I can jump up and say hello).
Mom hates festivals because
- Lots and lots of people (she gets claustrophobic in crowds)
- Lots of food on the ground (her arm hurts from pulling me away from a limitless supply of snacks).
- No place to eat (balancing a dripping plate while sitting on the itchy grass isn’t her idea of a dream meal)
- Lots of dogs (because most of them don’t want to play and they get nervous when I jump up to greet them)
“Well, let’s check out the music,” Mom said bravely, steering us to one of the stages.
Alas, she concluded, Arlo Guthrie is the only folk singer she wants to hear these days, preferably from a comfy seat in Benaroya Hall.