my desk is a mess...

Apparently, I am a fan of Bark in the Park. I've been to the past three Bark in the Parks. I don't own a dog. I probably never will. But Bark in the Park coincides with the warbler, bird migration. Phil and I go out to see those warblers of every color (blue and black, black and white, black with tails flashing orange) and then, we hear Bark in the Park nearby. And you gotta go! 

Bark in the Park is always fun. It's a dog park on steroids. Owners and their dogs everywhere. Some dogs diligently marking their territory, others trying desperately to figure out which dog they want to meet next (him? her? Her?), some so exhausted they're morphed into rugs. The sizes, the shapes, furs of all textures (marbled, woolly, long).

Owners with handfuls of dogs, some trying to dress them up with new collars or sweaters or barrettes. Yes, some owners kind of look like their dogs.

I love trying to figure out which breeds made that particular mutt . . .

And that brings me to one of the many reasons I love living in Chicago: the festivals in the summer. As soon as it gets nice around here, you run into festivals. You're bird-watching and there's Bark in the Park. You go to eat at restaurant and come out and find a craft fair. You're sitting at home and there's the sound of a live band in the air. You're at the Farmer's Market and without notice, a jet from the Air and Water Show swoops overhead. My heart stops because of the noise. But then I look up to see if I can spot the person in the cockpit.