Dog's On A Plane
Posted: Friday, January 15, 2010
by Jack H. Schick
I decided to take my gun dog, Riley, to California with me my next trip out. The previous trip there had been Gambel's quail running all over our yard. We went through thirty pounds of bird seed that week. There were rabbits and ground squirrels crawling around in the wood pile, too. Riley, an American Brittany, was an expert pheasant and waterfowl hunter. He was a professional guide dog. He drove out to Wyoming with me a few years before and did great on the Hungarian partridge and sage grouse. I thought I'd give him the opportunity to be the best darn bird dog in three states.
Getting the guns onboard was easy. I'd done that before. You just have to have a locked, 'airline approved' gun case and let them know you're bringing them. It slows down the line if you surprise the luggage check agent with a couple of shotguns. Riley was a different story. First, I had to pay a 'special baggage' fee that was half the cost of my ticket. Then, I had to buy a special 'airline approved' dog carrier. The one I had was not good enough for them. I had to sign a waiver saying I agreed that: airline employees would not feed or water the dog; if they thought he was sick they would send him to the vet without asking me; and if he died, it wasn't their fault in anyway. We had to be there an extra hour early to take care of all the extra b.s. involved.
To save the hassle on the shuttle bus, my wife dropped me off at the 'Departing Flight's' curb with all the luggage and Riley in his crate, while she parked the car. With that pile of 'luggage' there was no way to avoid hiring a skycap, just to get us off the unloading dock. The place was jammed. The lines of people zigzagged back and forth. Sitting there on the dog crate with my gun case waiting for my wife to show up, I got a few 'looks' from suspicious travelers. An over weight security guard leaning against a pillar watched me the whole time. I made eye contact a few times, but didn't want to provoke him. It seemed to take her an awfully long time to get back from the parking lot. Since we had 'special luggage', we at least got to go to the head of the line for special handling. It got us a few scowls and groans from the hundred and fifty people in line.
I handed my e-ticket with the 'guns and dogs' codicil to a cute supervisor. She had a couple of big, uniformed, stony faced guys with her. They had me take Riley out and put him on his leash. One guy ran the wand over the crate, top, sides and bottom. He even checked the dog. The other guy pulled out the blanket and peered inside with a flash light, looking for a bomb. They had me open the gun case then took it into the back room. They tore it appart, even pull out the foam rubber liners. They broke one of my cable locks in the process, but said it was okay with just the other lock. They were absolved of responsibility for breaking it, they assured me. I signed a paper with my information and the gun serial numbers on it. One copy went in the case, the other I had to show to pick them up when we landed at LAX.
Then, they shoved Riley in his crate and the guns through the chute and onto the conveyor. I waved 'goodbye' to him and lied, "See you soon, Bub!" I'd written "My Name Is Riley" on the front of his crate in case someone wanted to be nice to him, but I was skeptical. We proceeded through the rest of the turmoil and got to our gate way too early. We watched out the windows hoping to see him being loaded, but didn't. We were glad it was a non-stop flight. Lost luggage would be a bit more stressful than it normally would be.
The flight was uneventful, but we thought about our luggage more than usual. It was late when we landed. The terminal was winding down for the night. The shops were closed. We were tired and irritable after a very long day. We rushed to the baggage claim, hoping it wouldn't be too long until Riley reappeared. We didn't think they would just send him down the chute onto the carousel with the rest of the luggage, but we weren't sure.
When we got to our pick up area the dog crate was already there, sitting unattended near the carousel. I ran over, "It's okay, Bubby. I'm here." He was fine, but didn't look happy. I was upset that they'd just left him there. He could have been stolen. It occurred to me later that stealing a dog is probably low on the priority list for people trying to get out of LAX at midnight. Three of the four wheels on his crate were missing. I was pretty ticked off about that. Of course, it wasn't their responsibility.
I picked up the guns at a supervisor's office after the appropriate paperwork exchange. We hauled our gear out to the rental car shuttle loading area, dragging the crate across the floor on one wheel. Riley was glad to get out. His water dish was empty and I'd long since finished the $4 bottle I'd bought at the Philly airport. I hadn't thought to save the empty and fill it in the restroom. The poor guy had to lick dew drops off the picnic table. He was looking really unhappy by then.
My wife stayed this time while I went for the rental car. There are no rental cars on airport grounds at LAX. They are all off airport and you have to shuttle out. It was close to an hour before I was back. I bought a soda at the car rental, quick drank it and filled it with water in their bathroom for Riley. It's about a two hour drive from LAX to our place. All three of us were sure glad when the day was finally over.
Part 2
The hunt with Riley in California was a total bust. I shouldn't have bothered with the hassle of getting him out there. There were still quail and rabbits running around the yard, but they frown on shotgun shooting in our neighborhood. We spent hours and hours covering huge areas of the Mojave Desert and the Big Horn Mountains Wilderness area. We didn't see another living thing. Well, we saw bugs. He ate a couple big, black beetles that I couldn't identify. I guess I should have realized. Why would animals be out in the desert when there were bird baths and feeders in everybody's yard? They were all 'in town' where the living was easy.
We dreaded the trip home. After a long drive into L.A. it was the same hectic rigamarole at the airport associated with transporting guns and a dog. We had the added complication of loading everything on and off the shuttle bus from the off site car rental drop off. We knew Riley was tough, but he looked angry this time when they slapped the luggage sticker on his crate and hauled him off. Worrying about it wouldn't help so we just tried to relax on the flight home.
I've never had a good opinion of Philly airport, and it did not improve that night. It was late when we landed, after midnight. Everything was closed up. We'd spent $12 on a couple of bottles of water water at LAX, since they won't let you take them through security anymore. We saved some for the dog this time. He'd been in his crate for close to twelve hours when we landed.
When we got to the baggage claim I went to the 'passenger service' office. There were three people behind the counter and about twenty wanting service. It didn't bode well. "Where do I pick up my guns and my dog?" I asked when I finally got my turn. The guy didn't even look at me, just pointed. I hiked a hundred yards down to the other end of the building and waited at the 'special luggage' conveyor. There was no one around. My wife stayed up with the rest of the passengers. It was about twenty minutes before any suitcases started tumbling out. She soon had ours.
I waited and waited. No one came. The conveyor wasn't running. I finally walked back to the service counter and insisted on the truth this time. "Where do I get my guns and my dog?" He at least he looked at me this time. "Down the other end," he scowled. I told my wife to stay where she was and keep her eyes open. I didn't trust him. I walked all the way back to the other end of the building again.
Before I got half way there she hollered. The gun case had come careening down the chute and was bouncing along the carousel. I wondered about the paperwork I had to show to get it back, but just shoved it in my pocket and grabbed the case right in front of a security officer. It was now forty-five minutes since we landed. The rest of the passangers from our flight were all long gone. Surely they wouldn't deliver the dog crate like that. I hiked back down to the 'special luggage' chute.
It was now an hour after we'd landed. Another flight load of bedraggled travelers had come in, picked up their bags and were all gone now too. I hiked back up to the service counter. I'll admit it, I wasn't very pleasant this time. I yelled at the guy. "Where's my dog! I've been waiting over an hour!"
"Did you ask somebody?" he yelled back. He thought I had a bad attitude. I'm afraid I did.
"I asked YOU, a half hour ago!" I yelled a little louder. I didn't like his attitude either.
He must have rememberd me then, because he got an apolgetic look on his face and went to the telephone. He told me it would just be a few more minutes. I should go down to the other end and wait. My wife looked madder than I was when I got back, and I was pretty mad. I kept thinking of poor Riley, caged up with no water, for 13 hours now.
A few minutes later there was an announcement. "Supervisor. Report to special luggage area."
"He's dead." my wife moaned. "He died and they have to get the supervisor." I was thinking the same thing. The anger quickly turned to fear. We continued to wait, and wait. The last flight was gone. They were closing the service office.
Finally, an hour and a half after we landed, a big guy in an airline uniform appeared, dragging a dog crate with "My Name Is Riley" written on the front. I could see him moving around inside, alive. We ran over. My fear instantly turned back to spicy anger. The guy had a big smirk on his face (it could have been a smile, but I wasn't giving him the benefit of the doubt). He looked like he was expecting a tip. I gave him one. "You people have the most f...ed up airport on the planet!" He quit smirking, and didn't get a tip.
Out at the parking shuttle loading area, I let Riley out. He slurped up all the water we had. He looked nearly as angry and tired as we were. The shuttle bus stopped a few yards up from us. By the time we got all our stuff there, the doors closed and the bus started to pull away.
My wife is usually pretty even tempered. Not this time. She threw down her suitcase, darted out into the street and pounded with both fists on the bus door. "STOP THE G.. D... BUS!" she shrieked. The driver got a horrified look on her face. The passengers lurched forward as she stomped on the brakes. I gave the poor woman a big tip and we got to the car with no further ado. The hour drive home seemed long, but we were starting to feel better. Riley sure was, anyway.
Now, if we take the dogs on vacation we drive. Driving coast to coast is much easier and more pleasent than fighting with the airports. We have a lot of fun. If you're thinking about flying with your dog, don't do it! One thing is for sure. It'll be a cold day in the Congo the next time my dog's on a plane.
This Article has been viewed 556 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
More commentsOK let me guess, next time you will drive? Man alive - I head you but when I took a cat with me it was over 20 years ago and no 9?11 yet but seeing her out there on the tarmac in a snow storm didn't help my blood pressure any.... MarijoThanks for reading, good to see you.
Very interesting information - thanks for sharingThanks for reading
its a very interesting topic and eye catching.part one is very interesting.i am looking forward to read part 2Thanks for reading
I was glued to your story. Having gone through LAX many times (without dog)I could only imagine the experience which you helped me to do. Can't wait for Pt. 2.Thanks for reading
I know nothing about hunting, in fact I'm a vegan. I do love animals and read this thinking about Riley and the guns. I'm happy to hear you can travel about with your guns and dog. As for Riley I suspect that look given to you as you waved goodbye to him was one of "Just where do you think your going and why aren't I with you" Anywho, it was eventful and a learning experience to read your article, I like it. Do give Riley a big atta boy and hug for me...Happy 2010 :) KatieI hug him all the time. He's retired now. Thanks for reading- it's pretty much as it happened
I loved this! Great article. You are a very talented writer, Jack. Hope to see more from you soon. Thanks for a great read.SandraThanks for saying that. Thanks for reading.
I have a couple of beagles...I would never be so insane as to take them on a plane...just in the care is difficult enoughas it is.I've been called insane before. Thanks for reading.so have I!
Finding this on Reader's Club and still think it is a FIVE! Do you still have Riley? MarijoRiley is almost 12. He retired from guiding pheasant hunts last spring. He got me a turkey this fall. he still hunts squirrels. Dobie, my 41/2 yr old Brit is my new guide job dog. I can name 25 people who think Riley is the best gun dog they ever saw. He earned me thousand and thousands of dollars guiding.
Hi Jack. Well-written adventure story. Thanks for sharing this to us. All the best to you and yours, ~Nenita~thanks for reading.
Everyone should read your story before considering flying with a pet. What a hassle. I love your wife's spunk. I'm sure Riley will prefer 'road' trips to air. :) Good story.
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