The Big Red Bowl

September 15, 2013

A fat mass of wrinkles, pinched nose and penny shiny coat leaned over the red plastic gallon-sized bowl to take a slurp, slinging a thick wad of saliva across the dry, cracked sidewalk. Her name matched the coppery fur and cool eyes, Penny. She is adorable. A French Mastiff who gobbled peanut butter and pumpkin biscuits by the handful as she took in the Bichon Frise, who very undignified for a dog, leapt into the arms of the nearest cooing woman. I sat at the cherry pie label red table in front of Woof Central, coaxing cash out of pedestrians soaking up what little sun we had on Penn Avenue during the Festival. Attempting to sell the stack of Kimberly’s Courage books to the patrons that meandered along the car-less street, seeking freebie cookies, popcorn, and chilled water in deadly plastic bottles, vying to be entertained.  At 62 degrees, I shiver and fret about the lack of a promised crowd. The Twins and Vikings games, bike race and fall weather seem to be taking their toll on the much anticipated street fair. The “Best Hot Dogs Ever” sold out across the way, slices of pizza trot in front of my eyes, brats soaked in beer float past and I dread the hunger pit in my stomach, knowing a good vegetarian sandwich is unattainable. I slurp my coffee and bide my time until I can bolt from the meat byproduct fumes and head home.

The Big Red Bowl attracts finicky eaters, dogs who refuse to sit for the treat, ADD sufferers who cannot pay attention long enough to draw a drink from the well, a few who growl and don’t play well with others yet mostly friendly, happy sorts who wag and seek attention from anyone within reach of the leash. I ate my fair share of the peanut butter, pumpkin treats as well. The brave ones experiment them too, nodding in agreement that they are not so bad. Edible even. Doesn’t measure up to a fresh salad but, I’m just one person talking.