Written by Karel Minor, Humane Pennsylvania President & CEO
I thank heaven there is not a U.N. Convention prohibiting the torture of metaphor, for I would surely be hauled in front of a Hague Tribunal for my crimes. Allow me to illustrate my metaphorical depravity. When people used to ask if my wife and I were planning on having another kid, I’d respond, “Good lord, no! Do you know how little sleep we get and how awful those dirty diapers are?” Two years later, as we welcomed daughter two, then two years after that for daughter three, someone would inevitably bring my earlier response up and ask what changed. I’d reply, “Enough time went by that I forgot, and kids are a lot of fun.”
Such is Pints for Pups. After the last big Pints for Pups held eight years ago, I swore I’d never do another. I was too old to haul kegs, it was too expensive and didn’t make enough net profit to justify the efforts, and the freak tornadic supercell thunderstorm that dumped six inches of rain on us and threatened to blow the tent away certainly didn’t help. Do another? Good lord, no!
But a lot of time has passed, and boy, are these big Pints for Pups Beer Festivals fun. There, file the criminal charges at the Hague, I’ve strung up that metaphor by its toes.
I’m not going to tell you how great this July 19th’s Mega-Pints for Pups is going to be, at least not outright. You can mosey on over to Humane PA and read that for yourself before you buy tickets or, better yet, sponsor the event. Instead, I’m going to wander down faulty memory lane and share the history of Pints for Pups with you, and how it was rooted in a comedy of errors in 1994 at a whole different organization. That comedy of errors resulted in, as far as I’ve ever been able to figure and I’m sticking with it until someone proves otherwise, the creation of the first ongoing charity beer event in Pennsylvania. Grab a beer, put on the readers, and turn the brightness up on your phone; this will take a minute.
I’m not one to humble brag. Not because I don’t brag, I do. It’s the humility part I struggle with. But as much as I’d like to claim that charity beer events were all my idea, I can’t. But I was able to turn lemons into lemonade and hops into wort- darn it, there I go with the metaphors again-when I found myself as a………………………………………..wait………………..what’s happening here?……………………….what, is this some kind of freak out? This isn’t funny, Wonka! 
It was bound to happen. Two weeks ago, I had this brainchild of reimagining Pints for Pups as the Glastonbury of Beer Festivals. Like any new festival, of course, something would go wrong or run late. I didn’t want it to be forgetting the portapotties or the beer, so the sacrificial item is this, what was to be a total engrossing history of Pints for Pups. Oh, well, if something has to give, better this than something else. We don’t want a Fyre Festival on our hands, do we? Now you can say you were at the first Glastonbury of Beer Fests and “….It was such a mess, I mean, they didn’t even finish typing the last blog post, can you believe it, Muffy? I mean, what amateurs.” 
I have an idea! If you haven’t already, you should totally buy your tickets using this link RIGHT NOW! Then I can finish the story for you in person over a drink! Maybe sitting beside a little bonfire in the moonlit meadow of Strummerville West after the show?
Or, you can wait for me to finish writing this some other time. But can you stand the antici………..
This year’s PfP is being hosted at HPA’s very own Ruiz-Murphy Dog Park in Birdsboro. It has green, rolling fields aplenty. We decided to book two bands from the early days of PfP, the fabulous Americana of 
