Mr. and Mrs. Dog: Our Travels, Trials, Adventures, and Epiphanies

One More River to Cross

120 OneMoreRivertoCross If they don’t want us to come, why don’t they just say so? —Chuck Dimit, United States Team I ’d forgotten one teensy­weensy detail. The last thing one does before flying dogs to the UK is get a tick treatment (Advantix pre­ ferred) and a tapeworm pill (must contain praziquantel), which your vet must administer twenty­four hours but not forty­eight hours before the dog is accepted at the port of entry. My vet did so at exactly 1608 EDT, 27 August. What with calculating EDT (eastern daylight), CEST (central European summer), and BST (British standard) time zones, I’d forgotten Air France, which would fly Luke, June, and moi from Dulles: check­in at 1345 EDT, 28 August, takeoff at 1645 EDT same date. My vet had filled out and stamped the tick/tapeworm certificate. His tech had dutifully noted the date (dd/mm/yyyy) and time (24 hour clock), butI would be checkingmydogsinwithAirFrancetwenty­onehoursafter the injection, which is not twenty­four hours. It takes a worried man. I dithered. I made contingency plans. I cleaned up:shaved,donneddresspants,blazer,andtie.Iexudedconfidence.Should some Air France functionary note the time and cry, “Non, Monsieur!,” I’d demand to see his supervisor and browbeat the man into agreeing that going by TAKEOFF time instead of CHECK­IN time my dogs met that twenty­four hour test . . . That’s how it is, friends. Traveling with dogs makes you nuts. I’d installed the required crate pads and waterers in each huge plastic crate. My duffle bulged with all­weather clothing, rain suit, wellies, meds, the dog bag (don’t forget the flashlight! Don’t forget the anti­stress supple­ ment!). My carry­on held a rented cellphone, iBook, GPS (loaded with a FrenchandBritishflashmemorycard),camera,preciousbluefilefolder,nu­ One More River to Cross 121 merous chargers/adapters, my rented microchip scanner, shooting glasses, and two books—Alters’s The David Story and Alastair McLeod’s Island. I burn through mediocre books. These two should outlast this adventure. Each huge verdammt crate with a forty­five­pound dog inside took two men to lift. The Dulles Airport porter slid them onto his cart and wheeled briskly to Air France, where I handed my passport and ticket to an authori­ tative woman who gestured at the dogs: “I must see their papers.” Ohshit!Here’swhere—becauseofanimperfectlytimedtickshot—they turn us away: No World Trial/End of Story. My blue folder contained an impressive array of papers: one six­page form in English with its six­page mate in French (both APHIS certified) for each dog, plus confirmations for US motels, Air France, French car rental, P&O ferry, Dover B&B, International Sheepdog Society (ISDS) forms, dog pedigrees, Brit car rental, Carmarthen B&B . . . I gave the agent the international health certificate: the form every­ one assured me I wouldn’t need. She examined it, ripped off the top copy, smiled, and directed me to security. SHE DIDN’T EVEN ASK TO SEE THE TICK AND TAPES FORM! TSA minions ordered me to lie Luke and June down and roll each dog onto its back so they could confirm neither had an explosive belt on its doggy undercarriage. After which they lost interest. I left the dogs with them. The dogs said, “Oh no! Not Another Airplane!” with their eyes. After more of the pointless humiliations we air travelers endure I boarded a shuttle to the departure terminal. And since I was presently fret­ free, I dug deep for a fresh fret. After his last domestic flight, Luke arrived with a note taped to his crate: “Caution!CrossDog!Watchyourfingers!”Luke’sneverbittenanyone,but he doesn’t like strangers jostling his crate. At Atlanta Hartsfield a couple years back, June and Luke were being transferred from big plane to tiny when the baggage man came over where I was watching. “Is that your dog? He seems upset.” He reversed the conveyor, Luke descended, and I told Luke to chill. Luke chilled. Not everyone is as sensible as that baggage man. Some folks hear one growl and freak: “Dangerous dog!” Airlines won’t carry dangerous dogs. 122 mr. and mrs. dog As I boarded the plane, I asked the steward to tell me when my dogs were aboard. On tenterhooks, I waited for bad news. A very long twenty minutes later the steward told me my dog was on board. “I have two dogs.” “Oui, Monsieur...