Emotional Support Animal Or Cheap Passengers?

 

   I think the tipping point was Dexter the Peacock. His owner, a photographer and questionable ‘performance artist,’ claimed Dexter was an emotional support animal when she tried to board a flight with him perched on her shoulder.

     I have nothing against peacocks; in fact I was incredibly excited when a pair of wild juveniles hunkered down at my place before deciding my ranchette was too crazy for them, and moved on. But as emotional support?   

    The shrieks of peacocks are the antithesis of soothing or calming. They sound like a cat being attacked by a coyote. At about 90 dbs.

     Dexter’s owner is far from the only one pushing the ESA envelope. Everyone who has boarded a plane over the last few years has seen ESA offenders. They are the miserable-looking dogs being dragged around by self-entitled women who are too cheap to pay the fee for taking their dogs on board.

     In addition to the unhappy dogs, the owners are usually surrounded by Gucci rollerboards and a condescending attitude. They DARE you to challenge their disability, because they are married to a lawyer. And they will call him RIGHT NOW.

     Things have changed since when I moved to Los Angeles, and flew carrying a goldfish. In a bag inside a bowl.  Herbie was the hit of the flight; little kids kept running up to take a peak at the flying fish. Most were disappointed that he was just a goldfish, I’m sure they were hoping for something more exotic.  Herbie, by the way, was an excellent passenger, though I never took him anywhere again.

     Obviously, even if Herbie were still alive, (he passed at the age of 10 and was buried under a rosebush), we’d never get on a plane. His bowl was far too big to get through TSA.

     The Dexter incident is unfortunate for everyone who travels with an actual, legitimate, support animal. Like Monty.

     My 87 year-old handicapped mother lives with me six months a year. She travels across country, bringing a couple of checked bags and Monty, her 13 year-old Silky Terrier. 

     The first few years, when Mom was healthier, we gladly paid the $125 to bring Monty on board. We shoved him in his crate and stuck him underneath the seat in front of me (or whomever was accompanying Mom.) Once we were airborne, we’d plop the crate on the companion’s lap. Monty would sleep and Mom could see he was fine. All was good. He didn’t bother anyone and life was good.

     Until it wasn’t. Two years ago, Mom and I checked into first class (thank goodness for that Delta AMEX card) and proceeded as usual. When everyone else opened their laptops, I took Monty out.

The flight attendant  had a fit.  She hissed and spat like a cat in a bathtub.

      “Put that ANIMAL on the floor.”

     It took me a moment to realize that she was referring to the snoring little dog on my lap. But I followed instructions, and soon Monty was whimpering softly and my mother was whining loudly. I put the carrier on my lap, and opened the top so Mom could reach in and touch him.

       The animal police arrived immediately and started screeching like a peacock.

    “Put that CREATURE on the floor. It is upsetting people!”

     There was no one sitting next to us and the folks across the aisle people were sleeping, or had been, until the stew lost it at the top of her lungs.

     “It needs to be moved immediately!” She hovered over me until I did so. I spent the rest of the flight bent over Monty with one hand slipped into his crate to pat his head. For a week I walked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

        I don’t want to damn all Delta stewardesses. Far from it. A few years later I was taking my seven-week-old Great Dane puppy home from Kentucky. Jasper Johns was booked and paid for as my carry-on. I got to my seat and discovered I had been moved to the bulkhead, and there was no place to put him. In a panic I pointed it out to my seat companion and the stewardess.

        The flight attendant looked at me like I was crazy. 

     “He looks like a support animal to me. What do you think?” She looked at my aisle mate, who nodded enthusiastically.  For the entire flight, he, and everyone in my row kept asking if I needed them to hold Jasper so I could go to the restroom.

        The earlier Monty incident spooked me. Now when Mom travels, Monty carries ESA identification. He has letters from two of Mom’s doctors, a photo ID and a badge. He has more documentation than I do. His picture is better too.

         The thing is, neither Mom nor I want to be one THOSE people, you know, the cheaters. We'd happily pay for Monty's travels. Truth be told, we aren’t lying about his ESA status. Moving Mom coast-to-coast is difficult and stressful and anxiety-producing. Knowing Monty is there, and safe, is calming.

     I’m not sure though, whose emotions he is supporting on these trips, Moms or mine.