WHERE: outside eating area @ bigfoot brewery, mid-late afternoon or not. whatevs. OPEN TO: you + @cascadestarters (3/3).
he usually isn't alone – if one of his roommates isn't by his side, his much - adored golden retriever, dorry, is. enter: the scene. saylor is scrolling on his phone, chomping slowly on some french fries in a to-go container as dorry makes friends with anyone who walks by. if sniffing qualifies as making friends, that is. it only takes a few tugs on the leash to catch his attention, more than usual, and saylor looks up from his device to see her pawing at a passer-by, begging for god knows what. “shit – ” mutters under his breath, getting out of his seat to try and corral her back more towards their table. “sorry, sometimes she likes to think she's making friends when she does that.” holds onto the leash with one hand, putting his hand between them and her paws. “you can pet her, if you want. she's friendly. you carryin' somethin' in your pocket? she thinks you've got somethin' for her.”
