The little dog appeared as nervous I was on the subway ride between boarding areas at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. The dog and I differed only in specie, size, the amount of fur on its head, and in its being accompanied by a young couple I assumed to be childless, considering how they doted on their pet. The dog was in the arms of the apparent husband, being given a break from confinement in a plastic travel crate and reassured that all was well despite being surrounded by unfamiliar sights, scents, noises and people. But all was not lost for the pooch. I was pretty sure it would not be spread-eagled to be wanded for explosives and box cutters by employees of the Transportation Security Administration. All it had to do was turn on its I’m Adorable act and be waved through a gate to the special first class lounge reserved for pets.
Still, the dog, a Cavalier King Charles Cocker Spaniel like the one shown above, was jumpy.
So was I.
Flying does not make me nervous. I’m an ex-pilot, second generation, but big airports give me the jimjams. I just don’t like airport crowds trundling luggage here and there, and overpriced fast food joints with tiny hurry-up-and-eat tables placed in hellishly neutral gray environs. I’m not all warm and fuzzy about what seems to be an arrest and booking process inflicted by the Transportation Security Administration either.
As for flying itself, even though I’ve spent half my life around airplanes, there is still something scary about being a passenger dependent on the skills of others while sardined in a metal tube with an outer covering less than an eighth of an inch thick, elbow to elbow with other potential accident victims, and hurled through the sky at hundreds of miles per hour. This gives me pause for reflection on the number of friends and acquaintances who’ve flown into clouds with rocks in them (that’s pilot talk for cloud covered mountains) or who have otherwise had their allotted three-score-and-ten cut short because of inattention and overconfidence at the controls of an aircraft.
Some of them took trusting passengers with them, and therein lies the real sin. If there is a special judgment for such pilots, I imagine them being shoeless and wanded for all eternity by demons and devils wearing the uniform of the Transportation Security Administration at the celestial gates between heaven and hell.
Otherwise I had a fine time in the Seattle area during a very special occasion, a large family reunion spread over several days with relatives I had not seen in years, and some of whom I was meeting for the first time. Good memories were recalled and maybe embellished a little, old hatchets remained buried, there were no knife fights or, worse yet, long testimonial speeches, although anyone who cared to regaled the rest with laundered anecdotes and was courteously heard by all. We laughed a lot. It was an understated but wondrous event and the stuff of permanently matted and framed memories. One of life’s mileposts: “Remember the time we all...”
I was sad to leave, knowing that this had been my last chance at my age to attend a gathering of that side of my clan, which is why I felt like how the dog in the airport subway looked. The dog looked loved, but essentially alone.
I would like to have such a pet myself. People who keep affectionate pets seem to live longer and be happier than people who don‘t, but no furry or feathered pets are allowed where I live. Maybe I can buy a smart goldfish. Goldfish don’t eat a lot, don’t have to be walked, don’t run up vet bills, and don’t have to take off their shoes at airports when flying to and from goldfish reunions.
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Comments, Critiques & Indictments:
I enjoyed reading your essay. My wife works for the Humane Society in the call center, and we are committed to treating pets with care. I am glad that the family reunion went well. We are spending a lot of money helping my daughter to put on a very large, expensive wedding in Boston next May. There will be about 125 guests, and I will only know about twenty of them. -- Ken
Congratulations and condolences, Ken. For some reason, the father of the bride gets stuck with the all expenses but is otherwise expected to play the role of a potted plant during the ceremony, and maybe that's a good thing. Me, I tend to get hysterical and cry during a wedding, any wedding, even if I'm part of the wedding paraphernalia as the limousine chauffeur, my heart and sympathies going out to whichever side of the of the family has given me the biggest tip. Maybe I can moonlight as a professional mourner at funerals. -- MB
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Mike, it sounds like you had a very acceptable time with family. Interesting how they seem to become important as we age. I often wonder if it is childhood memories or maturity. -- Kent
Childhood memories tend to improve with the wistfulness or maybe wishful thinking of age, no? -- MB
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God willing you'll come back as a dog at my house. Or Rita's. They're notoriously spoiled rotten -- BT
Not likely. With my karma, I’ll probably be reincarnated as a cockroach or a baggage and body checker for the Transportation Security Administration. -- MB
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When I passed my private pilot exam, the examiner, an old timer, said, "before you leave and fly back to Hazard (KY, the state not the jelly) I want to tell you one last thing: "Weather will kill you.” All our family stories are told by my children and they all begin, "Remember the time that Dad…”
Enjoyed the missive!
Best wishes,
Doc
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That was charming. I always love the stuff you send along to me, you're a terrific writer, Mike. -- Amanda
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Surprisingly, goldfish have more brain than expected. Some of mine are even more clever than my mother in law, and have a wider memory span. -- Gerard
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Adorable puppy. -- Brat
You’re kinda cute yourself. -- MB
