Django here.
My mom is frantically throwing things into a box with wheels on it, muttering to herself. Next to the box there is a bag. She has conned me to climb into it on two occasions by suspiciously laying out treats inside of it.
It is not as bad as the tube, but I don’t like it.
In the meantime, here’s a story the wrote about the time and my predecessor, Ruble, left Turkey and traveled on a plane, during another American election. (Yes, I watch the news.)
I’m hoping whatever’s happening soon will be a similar experience. Maybe not the election part, but we could talk about that for days.
I’ll let you know where we end up. It had better be worth it.
love,
D
November, 2016
Everyone is always grumpy at airports.
I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this. Maybe, like me, when you’ve been up since 3AM and don’t want to eat a stale muffin for breakfast, you find yourself to be equally grumpy. I also had extra anxiety, as this was my first time flying with my dog, Ruble. He was supposed to come in the cabin with me, but so far, the airline had been really difficult to deal with. I was afraid they were going to come up with some reason to turn us away, or make my semi-toothless geriatric Schnauzer travel in cargo.
Sure enough, when we arrived at the airport for the domestic part of our flight, the airline people looked like I had grown a third head. I showed them my foot-high stack of letters and documents. I tried to patiently explain that this had already been discussed with the people at their head office.
They made some phone calls.
I became less patient. How many more hoops were we going to have to jump through before we landed in Montreal? Ruble was sniffing around the floor at leftover bits of stale muffin, so I lifted him up and stuffed him into his travel bag in the front compartment of the baggage cart, which put him at eye level with the airline guy I had been talking to.
The airline guy’s eyes went wide.
“Merhaba!” he exclaimed, his voice rising by six octaves. He reached over the counter and stroked Ruble’s head. The ladies next to him cooed and made kissy faces. A few minutes later, the whole issue had been sorted and we were on our way.
As we approached security, I imagined what they must be thinking.
“Check out this privileged white bitch carrying her dog in his own bag while the rest of the world falls apart.”
As soon as the security guard saw Ruble, he got down on his knees to snuggle him. The girl who patted me down asked if she could hold him, and I swear they searched my luggage extra thoroughly so she could carry him for a few more minutes.
The same thing happened at the next security check, and the next.
People smiled at us from across passport control lineups. Kids ran over and stroked Ruble’s back. A massive bald man with a hairy chest and gold chains spoke to him in a singsong voice. A stern-looking moustachioed guy on our flight, who refused all meals and read from the Q’ran for hours on end, came over several times to say hello, ask questions about Ruble’s eating habits, dangle his toy in front of him, and scratch him under his chin.
I woke up the next morning in my hometown, after almost three years of being away, and imagined what would happen when I ran into people I went to high school with in the supermarket, who would all, obviously, be happily married to their soul mates and have two kids, three careers and a 401k, whatever that is.
“How are you?” they would exclaim, as their wedding rings glinted in the sunlight, reflecting off their gold-plated Swedish-made strollers. “What have you been up to?”
I am not good in these types of situations. I don’t elevator pitch well. I knew I was going mumble something about how I’m divorced with no kids and living in my father’s house, and then make an awkward excuse and run to the nearest establishment that sells muumuus and cats. Instead of:
“I’ve just been traveling—Uganda, Australia, New Zealand, Indonesia, and Europe— am free as a bird, and am happier now than I’ve ever been.”
I turned on my phone and found out that Donald Trump would be the next President of the United States.
I prayed that it was a bad dream. Should I have stayed on the other side of the world?
Cross-eyed with jet lag, I walked to the supermarket. No sooner had I gone through the sliding doors and taken a cart than I turned and ran smack into one of my teachers from high school.
“How are you?” she exclaimed. “What have you been up to?”
Somehow, I remembered to mention that I’d been traveling. She asked where to.
“Oh,” I waved my hand around. “Places.”
We chatted for an unexpectedly long time. She told me some happy things about her kids and grandkids. Then she told me about some of the difficulties she’s faced over the last few years. Big difficulties. Humbling difficulties.
We hugged goodbye, and I noticed that I was feeling better. I didn’t have Ruble with me, but decided to act as if I did. I was extra friendly to the woman behind the deli counter, who was extra friendly back. I grinned at a tired-looking mom trying to stuff her toddler into a stroller. I said hello to people I passed on the street, some of whom were walking dogs, others who weren’t.
When I get home, I found Ruble on my bed, sitting in a sunbeam.
I curled up next to him. Having mostly been in warm places over the last couple of years, I hadn’t purposefully sat in a sunbeam for ages, and certainly not with my little sidekick next to me. Now that we were back together, I realized how incomplete I’d felt without him.
And how much I’d forgotten the effect he has on people, not because he’s that special (he is, but we won’t go there for now,) but because, like all dogs, he is unconditional love.
A reminder that no matter how much we’re up against, and how different we think we are from each other, we’re all on this ride together.
Ruble, 2004—2017. Still miss you every day, buddy.
Awwww.... I loved seeing Ruble again -- he has the best beard ever. xoxox
A beautiful read 💕