The Airport Story... lmao
My First Fila
The day had finally arrived, I was at the airport to pick up the puppy I had drooled over and dreamed of for over four years. It is St. Patrick's Day and his flight has taken two days to arrive. His connecting flight the night before hit a bird and had to return to the airport. Since it was the last flight of the night, he was held over in Minneapolis until the next flight and that is the one currently landing.
The airplane carrying my puppy circles and lands and I quietly stand at the window and watch as "everything" and I mean everything is unloaded from the plane first. About the time I think he isn't on this flight either, I see the people unloading the plane look at each other and crawl in and back out pulling a series 300 crate. They peer into the crate – converse among themselves, they put him on the cart and head toward the baggage room with him.
It seemed like several lifetimes before they called me to come back to the baggage room to get him. Everyone on the plane had come and gone with their bags – my stomach is in knots, I feel sick – I have a headache – my vision is blurred as I go around the corner to where they have him in the baggage room. I'm having an anxiety attack – I could use a paper bag. But you know how airport security is – anyone walking around with a paper bag on their head is arrested.
I go in to sign the papers and tell the girl that I would like to see him first – to make sure it's the dog I wanted and that he is still alive. I walk over to the crate and gaze in. He is in the very back, in the corner – and I can hear the rumble of his growl, a very deep and serious growl. I start to open the door on the crate and the attendant asks, "Are you going to take him out?"
"Well yes." I answer. "I need to make sure he's okay before I accept him. Your Airline held him overnight and I would like to make sure he is okay." "Oh." Is all that is said. I open the door and put my hand in – he sniffs, growls and glues himself to the back wall of the crate. I reach in further and finally grab him and pull. My lord what a big baby is my initial reaction to his hefty weight. I finally get him out – and count all his fingers and toes. I make sure his eyes are where they are supposed to be, such a stoic – quiet puppy. He's just looking at me with those solemn brown eyes – and I instantly fall in love. Was there ever any question?
I talk to the two attendants and decide they can at least sit there and play with him while I go get the car and bring it to the nearest door. It's a very small airport – with this I luck out.
Once I'm back in – I look at the puppy and his crate and ask if the attendant if he wouldn't mind helping me carry the crate and the dog out to the car. "Not in our contract." I look at the man in stupefied shock. I finally just chew my tongue in half and sigh. I ask them to watch him while I drag the crate out to the car. There was no way I was going to carry the crate and the dog out to the car. I looked for a hand cart – nothing. The old fart smiled at me. I mumble something about the attendant's heritage and his parents never having been married and drag the crate to the car. I come back inside for the puppy and put the rolled collar on the puppy – and think I wish I had brought a leash. I pick him up and stagger to the door.
I sometimes despair over my body now, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt, the arthritis and often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror – I'm just not a young woman anymore and carrying something that feels like dead weight in my arms – isn't getting it. I set him down. I stand there for a moment waiting for the world to come back into focus. I waddle finally to the car with him in my arms, my knees banging into the back of his legs, he's just hanging there like wet laundry, and I'm gasping for air – and plop him down again.
I can't get the door open and hang on to him – he is lying quietly at my feet. I try to keep one hand on him; I can't and open the door. I kind of put him between my feet - I let go of his collar to open the door and he suddenly springs to life and simply walks away.
This is almost exactly one month to the day that Vivi disappeared at an airport in New York. I go running after him. "whosit" (we haven't named him yet) tail in a scimitar curve is slowly trotting just out of my reach with the occasional look over his shoulder as if to say, "I can't possibly be your dog, I don't know "who" you are. Leave me alone."
We go the entire length of the parking lot. Finally a man steps out of his car, and I say "Mister" – he looks at me, looks at the puppy – side steps "around" the puppy and says, "What?" The puppy turns left and straight into a snow back and heads back to me and I tell the nice gentleman, "nothing". He's trapped between the two cars and I grab him, he lies down.
At this point I need a paramedic and a stretcher. My knees are screaming in pain and I just had a heart attack chasing a puppy the equivalent of the full length of a football field. I grab his collar and lean against the nice man's car. I now look back over my shoulder to where my car is parked. I almost need binoculars to see it.
The deceptive little shit is now sitting at my feet like he didn't just make me run a marathon after him. I pick his lard butt up and start walking. I go three steps, my knees explain to me in detail – "one more step carrying your butt and fatso and you die without your knees." I put him down again.
The puppy is just sitting there smiling at me. I get his collar and try a slight tug to get him up. He lies down. There is no way I'm letting go a second time.
I pick him up again, stubborn determination gets me about twenty four feet. I put him down again. I am grumbling about the breeder not shipping this dogs internal bones with him – he's lying down again. I'm trying to breathe with my diaphragm folded in half. I see spots and not the one laying at my feet. It was the nick name the breeder had hung on him.
I have no idea how we make it the rest of the way – it's all a hazy, oxygen starved fog, but we finally make it to the car. I open the front door and he's still limp. I look in his face to determine if he's still alive – yep. He blinks and grins at me. I literally have to push his limp body up into the car. I shut the door and finally stand up right and gulp air. I practically crawl around to the driver's door. At this point I'm exhausted and have a forty five minute drive home.
I'm drenched in sweat – my hands are shaking from this unexpected work out as I climb into the car. "Whosit" is laying comfortably on the floor with his head laying on the consol. He just looks at me, but I can clearly hear him thinking, "You can't possibly be my new mother. There was a mistake at the window."
I look at him and grin, "Sorry pal – luck of the drawl! I'm what you got!"
He closed his eyes and sighed.