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My First Fila
by LaVonia Snyder
The day had finally arrived, I was at the airport to pick up the puppy I
had drooled over and dreamed of for over four years. It is St. Patrick's
Day and his flight has taken two days to arrive.
The airplane carrying my puppy circles and lands and I quietly stand at
the window and watch as "everything" and I mean everything is unloaded
from the plane first. About the time I think he isn't on this flight
either, I see the people unloading the plane look at each other and
crawl in and back out pulling a series 300 crate. They peer into the
crate – converse among themselves, they put him on the cart and head
toward the baggage room with him.
It seemed like several lifetimes before they called me to come back to
the baggage room to get him. Everyone on the plane had come and gone
with their bags – my stomach is in knots, I feel sick – I have a
headache – my vision is blurred as I go around the corner to where they
have him in the baggage room. I'm having an anxiety attack – I could use
a paper bag. But you know how airport security is – anyone walking
around with a paper bag on their head is arrested.
I go in to sign the papers and tell the girl that I would like to see
him first – to make sure it's the dog I wanted and that he is still
alive. I walk over to the crate and gaze in. He is in the very back, in
the corner – and I can hear the rumble of his growl, a very deep and
serious growl. I start to open the door on the crate and the attendant
asks, "Are you going to take him out?"
"Well yes." I answer. "I need to make sure he's okay before I accept
him. Your Airline held him overnight and I would like to make sure he is
okay." "Oh." Is all that is said. I open the door and put my hand in –
he sniffs, growls and glues himself to the back wall of the crate. I
reach in further and finally grab him and pull. My lord what a big baby
is my initial reaction to his hefty weight. I finally get him out – and
count all his fingers and toes. I make sure his eyes are where they are
supposed to be, such a stoic – quiet puppy. He's just looking at me with
those solemn brown eyes – and I instantly fall in love. Was there ever
any question?
I talk to the two attendants and decide they can at least sit there and
play with him while I go get the car and bring it to the nearest door.
It's a very small airport – with this I luck out.
Once I'm back in – I look at the puppy and his crate and ask if the
attendant if he wouldn't mind helping me carry the crate and the dog out
to the car. "Not in our contract." I look at the man in stupefied shock.
I finally just chew my tongue in half and sigh. I ask them to watch him
while I drag the crate out to the car. There was no way I was going to
carry the crate and the dog out to the car. I looked for a hand cart –
nothing. The old fart smiled at me. I mumble something about the
attendant's heritage and his parents never having been married and drag
the crate to the car. I come back inside for the puppy and put the
rolled collar on the puppy – and think I wish I had brought a leash. I
pick him up and stagger to the door.
I sometimes despair over my body now, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and
the sagging butt, the arthritis and often I am taken aback by that old
person that lives in my mirror – I'm just not a young woman anymore and
carrying something that feels like dead weight in my arms – isn't
getting it. I set him down. I stand there for a moment waiting for the
world to come back into focus. I waddle finally to the car with him in
my arms, my knees banging his back legs, he's just hanging there like
wet laundry, and I'm gasping for air – and plop him down again.
I can't get the door open and hang on to him – he is lying quietly at my
feet. I try to keep one hand on him; I can't and open the door. I kind
of put him between my feet - I let go of his collar to open the door and
he suddenly springs to life and simply walks away.
This is almost exactly one month to the day that Vivi disappeared at an
airport in New York. I go running after him. "whosit" (we haven't named
him yet) tail in a scimitar curve is slowly trotting just out of my
reach with the occasional look over his shoulder as if to say, "I can't
possibly be your dog, I don't know "who" you are. Leave me alone."
We go the entire length of the parking lot. Finally a man steps out of
his car, and I say "Mister" – he looks at me, looks at the puppy – side
steps "around" the puppy and says, "What?" The puppy turns left and
straight into a snow back and heads back to me and I tell the nice
gentleman, "nothing". He's trapped between the two cars and I grab him,
he lies down.
At this point I need a paramedic and a stretcher. My knees are screaming
in pain and I just had a heart attack chasing a puppy the equivalent of
the full length of a football field. I grab his collar and lean against
the nice man's car. I now look back over my shoulder to where my car is
parked. I almost need binoculars to see it.
The deceptive little shit is now sitting at my feet like he didn't just
make me run a marathon after him. I pick his lard butt up and start
walking. I go three steps, my knees explain to me in detail – "one more
step carrying your butt and fatso and you die without your knees." I put
him down again.
The puppy is just sitting there smiling at me. I get his collar and try
a slight tug to get him up. He lies down. There is no way I'm letting go
a second time.
I pick him up again, stubborn determination gets me about twenty four
feet. I put him down again. I am grumbling about the breeder not
shipping this dogs internal bones with him – he's lying down again. I'm
trying to breathe with my diaphragm folded in half. I see spots and not
the one laying at my feet. It was the nick name the breeder had hung on
him.
I have no idea how we make it the rest of the way – it's all a hazy,
oxygen starved fog, but we finally make it to the car. I open the front
door and he's still limp. I look in his face to determine if he's still
alive – yep. He blinks and grins at me. I literally have to push his
limp body up into the car. I shut the door and finally stand up right
and gulp air. I practically crawl around to the driver's door. At this
point I'm exhausted and have a forty five minute drive home.
I'm drenched in sweat – my hands are shaking from this unexpected work
out as I climb into the car. "Whosit" is laying comfortably on the floor
with his head laying on the consol. He just looks at me, but I can
clearly hear him thinking, "You can't possibly be my new mother. There
was a mistake at the window."
I look at him and grin, "Sorry pal – luck of the drawl! I'm what you
got!"
He closed his eyes and sighed.
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