We are taking one last quick beach romp before we go to the ranch for Easter. I dash once more into the waves and chase the shadows of a squadron of seagulls. I decide not to dig out picnics abandoned on the sand, and I don’t lap up any salt water even though I’m thirsty; MM says it’s bad for me. Soon we have to leave for the airport, so MM is turning around to go back to our beach house. Now when she tosses wet sand into the air it hits her in the face, because the wind is blowing the wrong way. She’ll get tired of that very quickly, and will walk faster so we can get ready to go on the plane. I’ll be good and tired and ready to go to sleep under the seat, dreaming of dolphins because I know they bring good luck.
Airports are my favorite places to observe how humans react to me. My MM has a little rolling case for me so she can pull me like a piece of luggage. Whenever we get to a waiting lounge or the Red Carpet place, she opens the case and people are surprised to see my little head pop out. I’m careful not to scamper around where food is being served, because that’s against health code rules. But everybody always wants to play with me. You would think I had landed from a friendly planet and no one had ever seen my kind before when I come out of my case and twinkle up to people.
We are leaving for New Mexico. There has been a terror alert, and even though I am sometimes called “Terry the Terror,” I can’t understand why I have to keep going in and out of my case. I go through the beeping screening arch, and then they make me get out of my case, and then people in uniforms feel my stomach and rummage around in my empty case. I see my MM is also being felt by a female in uniform; she is taking off MM’s shoes, and asking her if there is metal in her bra.
I am immediately attracted to one of the big, strong female security agents because she seems so stern, so I scamper over to her and jump up to be petted. She is so mad, she steps back and shouts “Get down! Get down!” My MM replies, “Oh, she’s just a dog, she’s just a little playmate.” The security agent leads MM into a little cubicle and I hear her say “I want to see everything that’s underneath your clothes.” I don’t know what’s going on because I’m left outside while other people try to pet me. What did I do wrong? I look under the cubicle as MM lifts her skirt and shirt. The lady does not touch her, but she is not being nice. I can see why I chose to make her happier.
Now we are on the plane to New Mexico. We are all settled in our spaces. I am under the seat in front of my Mistress Mother but my little doggie bag case sticks out just a little bit. The male flight attendant is bending over us looking very closely at my case. My MM says “Well, it’s got a tag that says ‘Approved by America West.’” The attendant says, “It doesn’t fit.” I realize we might have a problem. He bends over and tries to push me farther under the seat. He is hurting my back so I growl. A few other people in first class hear me. Up to now they must have thought I was a piece of luggage. I see them looking over. The attendant keeps saying, “It doesn’t fit,” and every time he tries to push me in farther I growl. My MM is getting embarrassed because she doesn’t want to feel she is getting special treatment, but she hates what he’s doing to me.
Another flight attendant comes over. Because she’s a female I think everything will be all right. But when my MM shows her the America West approval tag, the male attendant says, “That doesn’t matter if the case doesn’t fit.” The female attendant doesn’t seem to know what to do.
The other passengers begin to speak up. “C’mon, let’s go, it doesn’t matter.” But the male flight attendant just stands there looking at me. There is a lot of commotion because now everyone knows what is going on and my MM won’t give up and he won’t give up. Half an hour goes by while other people in uniforms come on and off the plane. There is more confusion. Now the pilot is coming out. I hear him ask, “What’s the dog’s name?” My MM says to him, “Terry. She and I have always flown America West because this case is approved.” He asks, “You don’t fly Southwest?” She says, “No, they don’t allow dogs.” He says, “Do you take Terry everywhere?” My MM answers, “Yes.”
The pilot is reaching down and rolling my case into the aisle. “Okay Terry,” he says, “we’ll take you into the cockpit.” His voice sounds so sweet.
The pilot has taken me into the cockpit and now he’s even giving me a treat. I wish I could twirl for him, but of course I can’t get out of my case. I know my MM is probably fuming in her seat, but I know she’s also grateful to the nice pilot.
Everybody who was trying to help leaves the plane and now I feel the familiar push of the plane taking off. I know it’s time for me to be quiet and sleep. I can feel my MM decide to call America West by a new name—from now on she will call it America Worst!