|Kung Fu Panda and the yawning chasm.|
Seat 5A is a bulkhead window seat that US Airways thoughtfully assigned me when I first made the reservation and told them I was traveling with a service dog in training. Way to go US Airways! My new neighbor in the middle seat immediately introduces himself as Steve and asks if he can help me. You know, I have flown close to 30 times with the dogs in training and have always sat next to a friendly or neutral person. What are the odds of that? Steve kindly takes my pack and stashes it for me while I introduce Piper to his new surroundings: a 2-foot by 2-foot square area at my feet. Piper is still learning how to lay quietly at my feet for extended periods of time, so I know a 5-hour flight in a small space is going to be a challenge for him. But I am confident he can do it!
He lays down, I sit down. Within minutes I look down to see him licking the floor, as if saying "Hey, this rug is delicious!"
"No, Piper, leave it."
He does, then proceeds to lick the adjacent wall below the window.
"No, Piper, leave it."
OK. He stops. "Good boy!"
Moments later, he is licking the seat legs where they attach to the floor. To Piper, his new space seems to be one big lollipop.
Piper looks at me questioningly. Obviously, he is not generalizing that when I mean Leave It, I mean leave the whole space alone.
I get out his blankie and arrange it rather awkwardly under him, then get him a toy slathered with peanut butter. Now he is quite happy to direct his attention away from taste-testing the airplane.
All is bliss and happiness. The plane takes off. Steve and I chat about service dogs a few minutes. He is a Very Nice Man. After awhile he gets out a thick paperback book and starts reading. Piper finishes his peanut butter treat and pops up.
"Hi, how's it goin'?" he asks.
"Fine. You are a Good Boy, but now Settle."
Piper looks blankly at me. Temporary amnesia has set in.
The amnesia is the long-term type. Time to up the ante.
"Piper," I say in my Low but Serious Voice, while I point my index finger at the floor. "Settle."
Piper looks at my finger, as if I am condemning him to Hades. And does not move.
"I prefer to Sit," he seems to say.
I am well aware that my neighbor, Steve, just inches away, is probably listening in on this mini-drama. I pull down on Piper's collar. Piper is a stone statue. I pull one of his front legs out. Stone statue. I pull the other leg out. He collapses into a stiff rigid line on the floor, invading Steve's space. I bodily slide him over. I tell him to Wait. I lean back in my seat.
Up pops Piper between my legs. "Hi, how's the atmosphere up here?"
My patience has flown the coop. Well aware that Steve is inches away, and that just minutes ago I bragged on what a great boy Piper is, I up the ante again. I pounce on Piper, wrestling him down and growl, "SETTLE!"
Taken by surprise by my intensity, Piper finally, really relaxes into a nice Settle. He looks up at me as if to say, "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?"
All is well, Piper decides he was tired anyway and falls asleep. I lean back and relax and soon fall asleep too. Much later I wake up, my neck stiff from sleeping in a chair with a headrest for a bigger person. I lean forward, elbows on knees, holding my head in my hands. I look down at Piper and half-doze. I can see Piper is in a REM (rapid eye movement) cycle and is starting to twitch his paws. Soon he starts emitting little squeaks. Then an occasional shudder along his back, like a horse getting rid of a fly. This is almost as entertaining as the movie the airline didn't show. I wish I had my book, but it is miles away, stashed overhead in first-class somewhere. Sigh. I watch as Steve sneaks a hand over to pet Piper on the head. He thinks I'm asleep - funny!
Now I am really bored. Two hours to go. I order some ice and wake Piper up. We play my idea of a fun game where I put ice inside a Kong and I hold it while he gets the ice out and chews it up. Piper is sleepy and could easily drift off if I would let him. But I am still bored, so we walk up to first class and stuff ourselves into the telephone booth-like restroom. Piper is very OK with this. Well, that was fun, now what? Piper looks at me with sleepy eyes. I tell him to Settle and he plops happily down. I amuse myself by looking out the window at the myriad twinkling lights as we descend into Los Angeles. Soon I can see the arteries of criss-crossing highways, with blood cell-like cars pulsing along them.
The plane lands. Passengers start to stand up and pull down their luggage. Behind me two children peek over the top of my seat to tell me how good my dog was during the flight. I take their compliments with a smile and thank-you. Only Piper, Steve and I know what really went down in Seat 5A on US Airways Flight 461.