Your dog CANNOT get on this plane
Our worst nightmare comes true
We arrived at the airport very nervous, with three suitcases, two carry-ons, and the dogs in their pet carriers. Three hours earlier they’d each had doses of Trazodone and Gabapentin. If I’d known how the day was going to go, I would taken both myself.
I’ll remind you that our biggest concern has been our older and bigger dog Woody. He is the cutest and bestest terrier dachshund mix you could ever meet, but he’s right at the weight limit of 20 lbs. Although the bigger concern is the dachshund part of his heritage which has given him a long sausage body.
We did a trial run with him in his airline approved carrier, however, and he curled up and went to sleep very easily. We would never do anything to make him unhappy or uncomfortable.
From what he had read we expected to check our luggage at the United check-in desk with little fuss about the dogs. We thought the people who made the decision about their size would be at the gate, which was frustrating because we wouldn’t know if the answer was “No, your dog is too big/your carrier is too small” until boarding time.
Turns out they make the decision right when you check your bags. The United agent immediately asked us to take the dogs out of their carriers! We’d been hoping if they looked happy in the carriers they would just let them be. No such luck.
As soon as Woody was out of the carrier and the woman saw his long weiner body, she said, “He’s too big for that carrier.” Roberto explained very sweetly and calmly that we had been training him for weeks to be in the carrier, that Woody was used to it, and that he was perfectly comfortable. She said she would get her boss.
Her boss’s name was Carolyn, and I hoped this would bond us somehow. It did not. We explained that we were leaving the country for three months and had a flight the next day to France and that the longer flight accepted dogs up to 30 lbs. (The flight we were trying to get on was 3 hours). She looked at Woody standing next his carrier and said, “You can’t fly with this dog.” I pointed out that it was going to be 102 degrees in a few hours and it seemed much worse for him to be in cargo in that heat. She said, “Oh, we don’t take dogs in cargo anymore. Most airlines don’t.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” we asked, stunned.
“Call a friend. Find someone to dogsit. Board him?”
I was ready to cry, but Roberto said, “Is there anyone with some discretion we can speak to?” Surprisingly, she said she would get her supervisor. I thought she was the supervisor.
While we waited we were very quiet. What was there to say? If Woody wasn’t allowed on the plane we would . . . we would what? We wouldn’t leave him behind for three months. We didn’t have anywhere to leave him that would be suitable (or within a reasonable price range). We couldn’t drive to NYC in time for our Paris flight or event take a train.
My mind was racing. Could we just try another airline and hopefully find a more sympathetic agent? At this last minute it would be super expensive, and if the other airline also said no to Woody then we’d be out the cost of another ticket. And we were already going to have to eat the cost of this one. If they reject your dog and you don’t get on the plane there is no refund.
The supervisor, a blonde named Sharon, arrived. She walked up and asked me to see Rudy, not understanding that we had two dogs. I got Rudy out and she was confused as to the problem since Rudy easily meets the size requirement. She cooed at Rudy and pet his head. This was a good sign.
Roberto said, “You are obviously a dog person,” and she said, “I have twenty-one of them.” I felt hope returning to my chest.
“Twenty-one,” we both exclaimed. “That’s amazing!”
“Yes. I live on a farm.”
“Where?” I chirped like Mary Tyler Moore.
“Between here and Houston. We take in rescue dogs and find them new homes.”
“That’s so wonderful!” Roberto proclaimed like a guy selling toothpaste.
“Will you get the other dog out?” she asked.
Roberto unzipped the top of Woody’s carrier and he popped his fuzzy head out. Sharon took one look and said, “Oh, it’s not like he’s a St. Bernard. He’s fine.”
I dared not look at Roberto. I felt like if we smiled at each other or did a high-five Sharon would disappear in a poof of smoke like the good witch that she was.
She told Other Carolyn that we were okay and should be given our boarding passes. I gave Sharon a hug and whispered, “Thank you” in her ear like she’d just given us the last raft boat on theTitanic.
Other Carolyn didn’t look thrilled that her decision had been overwritten but she gave us our boarding passes anyway.
By the time we got through security we were already exhausted, and I had lost three pounds in panic sweat. We got in the line to board feeling confident, but when we reached the front the agent said, “Where are the yellow tags for these dogs? You should have yellow tags. Go to the counter.”
So we went to the counter. We were supposed to have special tags for the carriers. Maybe Other Carolyn had been passive aggressive? So now this new agent wanted to see the dogs out of their carriers. We kept throwing around the name Sharon.
“Sharon said they were fine.”
“Sharon the supervisor said they were flight ready.”
“Sharon is my mom.”
The agent eventually gave us the prized yellow tags. We boarded the plane. As you can imagine, there is not much room under the seats for the carriers—thus the stringent rules about the size of the container. But we got them settled as best we could.
As we waited for take-off, Woody slept and Rudy did some growling. I’ve always wondered why I didn’t hear more barking on planes. I know many of them or drugged but still.
I now know the answer. The engines are too damn loud to hear them. Rudy kept growling and making the occasional little bark (he wanted to get out and sit in my lap) but I seemed to be the only person who could hear him.
We were sitting in back of a family with a tiny baby, so I told Roberto we could blame any noise or bad smells on him.
We were laughing and joking, so relieved to be on the plane with both pets. We pulled out of the gate and onto the runway. The engines were fired up.
And then the captain came on the speaker.
“Folks, we’ve just heard that United’s mainframe computer is having issues and so they have grounded all flights while they boot the system. We should have an update for you in 30 minutes.”
Boot the system? For ALL of United? For the love of God, it’s not a router. This was not good.
Thirty minutes later they said it would be another thirty minutes before we would know anything. They turned off the engines. Which is always a very bad sign.
We waited for them to turn back to the gate, for them to tell us all United flights were canceled today, that we would have to go home, come back a different day, with re-drugged dogs, on a day when SHARON MIGHT NOT BE WORKING.
Once again, Roberto and I were very quiet. The couple in front of us had a newborn and I felt more sorry for us.
Thirty minutes later the captain said he thought we might, possibly, maybe be able to take off after all. He would let us know when.
Finally, after an hour and forty minutes of waiting on the tarmac, we were given clearance for take off, and we and our stoned dogs were allowed to disappear into the great big blue sky, leaving Other Carolyn far behind.
Jusqù’a la prochain fois (until next time),
Carolyn & Roberto
Note: This was only day 1 of our dogs-to-France experiment. Unfortunately, it was enough for its own post. We’ll let you know how it ends as soon as we know.
Cauchemar!
Fingers crossed!