It ends up that, but for visiting with two dear friends — my best-of-best pals all through those years of wandering the instututional-green hallways — the event paled.
On the plus side, the void gave me room to continue the thought chain that started linking together back at the start of my trip: How would my service dog fit into this travel scene?
To the Airport: As I boarded the bus, a comfortable and convenient means to the airport, I determined that we’d need to climb the steps up single-file. Hmmm, who goes first? If I do, I can select a seat, but I can’t watch that he’s with me and not scarfing muffins from people’s laps. No, he goes first and I need to give clear voice commands. I also need to boot the college student sprawled across both seats out of the handicap row.
At the Airport: I go first off the bus. Egads, I cannot imagine him ahead with all the wacky drivers, hotel vans and antsy cabs speeding past. Next, check in needs to be at a desk, with a human. The handy do-it-yourself kiosk isn’t likely to notice that I’ve a dog who needs some space on the aircraft. From what I’ve read, I’ll need a printout of the law with me as well, for any staff who hesitates to let him board.
Through the airport seemed no problem. Plenty of space to walk; big (though loud and echo-filled) bathrooms. Note to self: locate elevators (escalators aren’t going to cut it).
Next: The security line. Ugh. Note to self: Have a few treats for him. And as needed, put on my Do Not Pet scowl — so many hands so close. That could prove tricky.
On the Plane: My flight was short. Perhaps that’s why we flew on only half a plane. Or, at least it seemed that way. Not sure where Sir Thomas would have fit. Note to self: Don’t sweat it: that’s the airline’s job.
The inn is a whole other piece of the puzzle. I’ll contemplate that some more.