Travels with a Chiweenie

Ok…so it really is day three.

Day 2 was much like day 1.

Airport anxiety.

After I asked THREE times of three different airline reps – do I have to go through pet check in again…a resounded NOPE came my way.

I just need to go to the kiosk outside the TSA and I am good.

I took that as an invitation to give the chiweenie more time to potty at home…so I roll up at airport and hour and half early instead of the suggested two and half.

Guess what?

Yup.

I had to go back to the counter and start all over again, an little more than an hour before the flight.

Trust no one.

And now….now they are weighing and checking every pet – not what happened on Monday.

I start to sweat.

What if I can’t get through this line in time?

Worst still, what if I can’t take her?

I took note of the others before me.

Much time being devoted to dogs in the bag.

I went with a different approach.

I held her in my arms – her sweet eyes looking at the clerk.

“Put her down on the scale with the case,” the clerk blurted with little expression.

I held my breath…Frida was 21lbs, 20 was the limit… “no one weighs the dogs,”  I was told by many friends.

And here we were – in a weigh in that I was able to bypass the day before, which I blew because I failed to keep my head together.

“Please, God, please…” whispering to myself, closing my eyes, one solo tear rolling down my buried my face.

“PERFECT!” she announces.

She follows up with some tips and we are on our way.

Security…again – this time I come through clean, but not my bag…for Pete’s sake already…

I have just enough time to get a bottle of water for Frida, get her in her carrier and we loading the plane.

THE WHOLE way down the aisle…first class to the end… “Oh my…what a sweet dog…hi cutie…I love your dog.”

Frida is a hit.

We get into our seat.

Flying with a dog is a great experience – it teaches you so much about yourself.

I am grateful to say…I can sleep on a plane, instantly, sometimes before we take off. I will miss drink service and only have less than one third of the way to go.  You can hate me, but, I have learned to put myself to sleep because I am terrified to fly.  I say the Lord’s prayer, bury myself into my teddy bear up against the window and let the recycled air lull me to sleep.

You can’t do that when you travel with a dog…and a child I suppose.

My mother never slept when we traveled…but you could at least still smoke then.

The drink cart arrives.

Dog is fine.

I must have looked strung out.

“Is it too early to have bloody Mary?”

“Nope.”

The attendant hands me a double and say, “the second one is on me,” with a wink.

She knows I have a contraband dog between my legs under my coat so I didn’t have to put her under the seat.

She looked away when checking for our landing when I had Friday on my lap with the coat still over the case.

Frida loved looking out at the clouds.

We arrive in NYC in a downpour. Nothing I would have cared about if I was by myself, but I had a dog who hadn’t gone potty since 7am AZ time. She didn’t seem to care when I took her to a potty station at airport.

Frida just looked at me as if to say – let’s go mom…what’s next.

I was going to hire a driver…thinking it would be easier…too expensive and really, jumping into a taxi was the easiest and most known thing to me anyway. Frida laid down on my lap, as she always known to do and went fast to sleep.

At the apartment (89^th Street and Central Park West), I am met by a lovely lady, Rosalie.  She has roses for me and an amazing human named Mark brings my 50lb suitcase up the 3 flights of stairs where I promptly tip him…now, I am realizing not enough money…will give him more soon.  I would have just sat on the stairs and cried, but thankfully the people of the universe were there.

Meanwhile, the potty situation.

Pouring rain.

Ran Frida to Central Park – thinking that would be easy. She pees, but she is not having the number two situation in the rain.

Failing.

I go to a drug store for dog food, hoping to find something for me. I settle on a frozen pizza and Peroni.

She is fine while I am gone, not a peep.

Another effort out – this time at a tree on the street.

Now here is the thing about NYC dogs – they pee and poop on the sidewalk, while leashed.

Frida…can be known to frustratingly poop on my hardscape in the backyard, but she doesn’t know how to do it on leash.

And let’s talk about the trees.

In the good neighborhoods, which I am staying in…they wrap the trees with a little barriers so mostly boy dogs can’t lift their legs on the trees.  And someone…who knows who…plants tulips in these beds surrounding the trees.

I am desperate.

It is late, it is raining.

I decide to become a criminal and put her in one of these beds. I can take her leash off and she will stay in the guard rails.

It worked!  Of course I cleaned up after her, but I feel like a felon.

This morning – the rain is worse.

Our windows of potty adventures are quick and desperate – just beating a downpour each time.

I work all day in the apartment, coaxing her with her favorite chewy.

Nothing.

She sleeps, but then she looks at me as if to say…why are we here? Can we please go for a walk?

I can’t coax her with the chewie to just hang out.

We do our last potty effort at 8pm.

I roll into bed to work on this blog.

And just like that – she realizes, oh this is home.  And she now lays by me enjoying her favorite night pastime.

Silly me – I was trying to use her bedtime happiness to pacify the day anxiety that only I was feeling.

Through these last three days – she has been the Zen teacher.

Live in the moment.

Advocate for yourself when need be.

Enoy the chewy only when you are ready.

Day 3 (really 2) down.

Here we go, us New York gals.

I can’t tell you how happy I am to have her with me and living this experience.

Crazy for some.

Scary for others.

But for me, just right.

Potty at 7am

See ya tomorrow.