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A helpful
American Airlines employee escorts the two of us down the jetway for
pre-boarding. Finding our seat, I quickly stow my bag and buckle in for
the flight from San Francisco to Dallas.
Soon after we board, a river of passengers streams onto the jet with
laptops and rolling carry-ons--and at least one parent with a child in
tow. "Look, mom!" she exclaims as she passes, no doubt
noticing Rickles sitting at my feet.
Rickles, of course, is a dog. But not just any old dog or kid magnet.
This blondish looking, 70-pound, 2 1/2-year-old male yellow Labrador
retriever with his own picture I.D. is a professionally trained guide
dog--my walking, hiking and flying partner.
Even for a blind person, who is allowed by law to bring a guide dog
aboard a scheduled flight at no extra charge, flying with a dog is not
something one just willy-nilly decides to do. In 12 years of flying with
guide dogs (Rickles is my third), I have refined my flying techniques.
But there will always be a few hoops a dog and partner must first jump
through.
It starts when calling for plane reservations. Besides informing the
airline I am blind (I have retinitis pigmentosa--commonly known as RP)
and may require some special assistance, I tell the airline I am flying
with a "service dog" and request a bulkhead seat.
Sometimes, of course, there are no such seats available (or they are in
an emergency-exit row, where by law I and anyone else who can't assist
in an emergency are prohibited from sitting), in which case I'll just
have to take my chances when I get to the airport.
I also check what kind of plane is used for a flight and, when possible,
will change my schedule to avoid flying on small "regional"
jets or turboprops, which may be too cramped for a guide dog.
Then, for the flight itself, I limit Rickles' food and water intake
about 12 to 18 hours before departure time. This is to reduce the
possibility of an embarrassing "doggie accident" either
onboard the flight or while at the airport. But, just in case, I carry
paper towels and plastic bags.
When I arrive at the security area I alert the attendant that I am blind
and this dog assisting me is a professionally trained service animal.
From that point we walk to a station so I can remove my shoes and then
hand over our carry-ons, in which I place my belt and any metal items
from my pockets.
Since the metal on Rickles' harness is likely to trigger the alarm, we
do not go through the metal detector together. I send him through first.
Almost every time, in the recent past, the security person wants to
pat-down Rickles, despite my puppy's innocent looking face. Sometimes
the security people crouch down on their knees and get so close to him
that they receive a surprise wet lick across the face. Oooo, yuk! Doggie
terrorism!
Now let's consider where a blind person and his puppy sit on an
aircraft. The reason I request a bulkhead seat when making a reservation
is because bulkheads--the seats behind the partitions dividing seating
sections on an aircraft--offer a guide dog and partner more leg-room and
comfort. I also prefer a window seat, so Rickles has less chance of
being stepped on.
When bulkhead seats aren't available in advance or at the gate, the
flight crews usually go out of their way to find suitable seating.
So far, even when I haven't been able to get a bulkhead seat, I've
always gotten at least a window or an aisle seat. (Here I must give an
unsolicited plug: Legroom in Coach is better on American Airlines'
full-size jets than on most other carriers--though the airline is now
cutting back space on some planes.)
Sometimes I have to fly through an airport "hub," with a
change of planes and/or a layover. If time allows, I will ask for an
escort to the outside to locate a convenient "potty" area for
my pup.
But that isn't always possible. One time, Axle, my first guide dog, and
I were flying on a famous discount airline from Los Angeles to my home
in Tulsa, and I didn't realize how short the layovers would be. We
quickly flew to Phoenix, where there was only time to disgorge our
Phoenix-bound passengers and then take on new boarding passengers. The
same thing happened in San Antonio. And Houston. And Dallas.
We were on the plane for well over five hours, but Axle's bladder
control was quite heroic, and we made it home without incident. This
despite the fact that two grade-school boys, sitting across the aisle
from us and flying alone, threw up every time we took off or landed.
During a flight, I monitor my dog closely. I do have some peripheral
vision, but no central vision. I see no color. I see some light coming
from bright windows and some shapeless forms while looking sideways out
of the corner of my eye. In the close quarters of the seating area, any
sudden movement of my dog's torso or head is certainly noticed by me.
But my primary means of knowing how my dog is behaving is through direct
contact. When other people are boarding or getting off the aircraft, I
usually have my hand through a leather harness strap that goes around
his back and chest. If my dog is in a "sit" position I always
have my hand on him or have him on a "close" leash.
I most certainly have to check my dog's every move to keep him out of
licking or sniffing situations. The harness my dog wears is very stiff,
so even when holding the harness handle I can often tell if his head is
turned right or left.
A wagging tail is also a dead giveaway. When my dog's tail is banging
the bulkhead, he is obviously being observed by a solicitous person.
I also get verbal cues from my fellow passengers. When I hear "Dad,
he's looking at me!" or "His face is so adorable!" I can
assure you they are not talking about me.
Each of my three guide dogs has had a different traveling style, ranging
from "don't wake me until we get there, please," to high
anxiety, including body shakes.
Axle was the "cool guy," with his laid-back style. Once
onboard, he wasted no time claiming his territory, quickly curling up
into a snoring fur ball and remaining that way until the wheels hit the
runway.
Darber, my second guide, reminded me of a self-admiring little boy. He
seldom remained "seated," but spent most of the flight
standing or sitting up, looking around to see who was looking at him. He
also liked to look out the cabin window, perhaps to check for ice
forming on the wings or to look for any passing UFOs. At times, if he
could, he would edge out to inspect the aisle.
Rickles is the nervous one, but he, too, is discovering it's okay to
fly. Early into a recent trip to the West Coast, Rickles was a little
shaky. To help suppress his jitters, I whispered over and over in his
ear his most favorite word, "FOOD." A little back massage
helped as well.
As for me, guide dogs provide their own kind of in-flight entertainment.
What can be most amusing is the attention my dog receives from adoring
flight attendants. If I had a hundred miles for every time an attendant
knelt down on all "fours" and stared in my dog's sweet face, I
would have enough miles to fly to the moon. With, of course, Rickles at
my feet.
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