Miró attends the theatre and flirts with a lady

Sunday was Dogs' Night Out at the Seattle Repertory Theatre for a performance of Sylvia, a comedy about a stray dog who turns out to be everything a man wants but nothing his wife wants. The woman who plays Sylvia is bark-perfect, right down to the kick-spot. You can see a video of her preparation for the part here.

Miro and I entered the lobby in a hurry because he is always in a hurry. Despite close quarters and mass confusion, every dog behaved excellently.

At the entry.

A rare clear space.

We found our aisle seats in the fifth row and immediately bounced up again because I spotted a familiar black and tan shape three rows ahead. We had to greet them.

Ever been to a children's theatre production? This audience was quieter and better behaved, though there was one white fluff-ball going eeeeeee through half the first act and again in the second. Most dogs settled down to be petted and have a nap. Except for the terriers.

How to watch a play. Rub head on person’s thighs. Get the darn halter off. Stand in aisle to be scratched behind the ears. Lie down to chew on dental rawhide chew. Sit up. Why is the lab in row 2 wagging his tail? Head rub. Back to the chew. Lie down across the aisle. Sit up. Hey, chairs are moving across the stage. But they’re not coming over here. Watch people walk onto the stage. Boooring. They’re paying no attention to Me. Saunter up the aisle. Get pulled back. Sit. Eye the lady across the aisle. She eyes back and smiles. Hey! Hey! Pet me. Did somebody say, “Shush?” Spoil sport. Sigh. Lie down for more chewing. Sprawl diagonally across the aisle. Roll onto back and grin, waiting for the laugh.

Outside for intermission.



Seattle icon. I had to take all photos one-handed in the dark.



Refreshment bar. Miro refuses to drink out of bowls other dogs have used.

Meeting the biggest theatre fan.

Miro's big moment. Toward the end of the 2^nd act, during the serious penultimate scene that will decide Sylvia's fate, she talks about the nature of love and ends by saying, “But what do I know? I’m only a dog.” Without a pause, Miró let out a groan. The audience cracked up.