Monday Meanderings - 06.16.2014

A few random thoughts about travel - which we have done a lot of lately.

Sitting, waiting on a flight to be called, we repeatedly heard a PA announcement asking "Would the person who left a large, red suitcase at the security check point, please return for your bag." One has several responses to an announcement of this nature. The first is:

• Oh great! We are going to have to evacuate the airport because of this unaccompanied bag!  
• But, it is at the security check point. They can scan the bag to check for bad things. 
• But the overriding thought is, Who walks off and forgets a large, red suitcase that you brought to the airport?

Later started to walk off and forget a small, black bag. Not once, but twice. Oh. That's how.

My seat-mate on one leg of the journey was a large person of apparent Polynesian decent. He was heavily tattooed with various tribal symbols, and had what appeared to be a silver spear, about six inches long, piercing his ear. I confess being somewhat nervous about the spear. I mean, one quick turn of the head and it's in his jugular! Even worse, a little turbulence and it's in mine!

Flying has become an exercise in incivility. Since airlines started charging for bags, passengers responded by hauling aboard enormous carry-ons. The airlines responded with ever-more strictly enforced restrictions on carry-on items and enforced gate-check items. Now some airlines charge for carry-ons as well.

The overhead bins go to the first aboard, so flyers crowd the boarding line. Airlines respond with pre-boarding select customers and those who pay extra for the advantage. Once seating was divided into First Class and steerage. Now the cabin is further divided into front of plane and rear, premium aisle seats and not-so-premium middle seats.While trying to work out seat assignments for this trip an agent informed me that there were "no more complimentary seats" on the flight. I explained that I had already paid dearly for the seats. so there was no problem.

And here's how you get the airline to take that extra bag, for free! Simply show up at the gate with an over-large carry-on (or even a small carry-on). The gate attendant will take one look at the bag and offer to check it to your final destination at no charge! You are welcome.

And don't get me started about the TSA and security screening. However, on this trip this wonderful little symbol showed up on our boarding passes.

With the TSA Pre check, you get to skip the long line, you don't have to take off your shoes, you don't have to take out your little bag of liquids. You just sail right on through security! Wonderful! So how do you get this little symbol? Apparently it is random, somewhat based on frequent flyer memberships. Or, you can make an appointment for a background check, finger printing, third degree grilling, etc., and get a Known Traveler Number which entitles you to the little pre check symbol all the time. The bad news? It costs $85 per traveler. The really bad news? The only places where you can apply - in person - in Texas are Dallas, Victoria, Port Lavaca, Houston, La Porte, and Freeport. Go figure.

We got pre-checked on all of our boarding passes (5 different legs on this journey), except for my boarding pass on the last leg of our journey. I got the long line, shoes off, liquids, etc., while Barb watched smugly from the other side of the line. But there was payback; I got bumped to first class on the last plane. I felt really bad about leaving Barb back in steerage - for a minute or two.

Adventures of Bob the Dog - The first single

 Taking a little vacation break. Here's another post from the archives.

Bob the Dog and his band – The Back Yard Howlers – have released a single that’s beginning to get a lot of airplay. Frankly, I’m surprised. I thought yodeling was pretty much a thing of the past, but Bob sings some too. It’s interesting that when he sings there’s no trace of the Aussie accent. I’ve heard the song and it’s not that bad. Sort of a throwback to the days of Jimmie Rodgers, but I’m guessing that’s before your time.

The song is titled “I’m So Lonesome I Could Howl” and the last I saw it had been given an “8 kibbles” rating by City Dog/Country Dog magazine. In an accompanying article, Bob’s agent said that the band was in the studio working on their first album.

Meanwhile there’s been a lot of bad press about Bob in the newspapers and entertainment news.  Why am I not surprised? It seems he’s been accused of yodeling in the wrong back yards, among other things. He denies it, and says that it’s just “yammering from some jealous bitzers, and that he’s living on the true.” I'm not so sure about that.

One news item quoted the manager of the Opreyland Hotel as saying, "Bob has certainly worn out his welcome with us. We try to be sensitive to the the needs of guests, but repeatedly diving off the 4th floor balcony into the atrium pool is not behavior that we can condone or permit."

In the mean time, Entertainment Tonight says a French Poodle named Yvette has obtained a restraining order from the Davidson County Sheriff's Office, which bans Bob from coming within 100 feet of her. Bob claims that it's a case of mistaken identity - she's got him confused with some other bloke.

This is not my dog.

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – Tishomingo Take Down

Time to take a breather, so I'm taking a blogger break for a while. I notice that other bloggers, columnists, and cartoonists pull up things from their archives, so that's what I'm going to do.

Last week I got a $300 bill from a Veterinary Clinic in Tishomingo, Oklahoma for “Surgical repair to the left ear of a Blue Heeler named ‘Bob’.”

I waited to see if I would get any more news about this particular issue, and sure enough in a couple of days I got an email from Bob. I’ll let you read it in its entirety:

Bob Dog bobdog1215@gmail.com to me

G’day Mate

I guess by now the postie has fetched the docket from the vet. Just put that on my shirt tail and I'll pay you back when my first album goes aluminum.

Me and the mates were playing for pints and petrol in a little joint in Tishomingo when things got a little barney. We had done both sets and were loading out when a Rottweiler who was full as a boot began howling at us. I tried to never mind him until he began going on about me mum – you know what I mean – and that's when I decided he needed sorting.

We took it out the back but it was a tee-up. The Rott and his mates had hosed down the alley and there was about a foot of muck back there and me being at least 20 kilos lighter than the Rott I didn't have much of a purchase. Well, to wrap it all up, he blinkin' near tore my ear off and if Leroy hadn't tapped him about a bit with the inn keeper’s baseball bat I might have carked it right there.

As it is, the doc needled me up and when I get the cotton out of me ear I'll be able to hear again, and of course, I do need to be able to hear so as to be able to yodel, so thanks for helping me out, mate.

Bob the Dog

Glad I could help, Bob.

To be continued...?

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – Bad Dogs Anonymous

Time to take a breather, so I'm taking a blogger break for a while. I notice that other bloggers, columnists, and cartoonists pull up things from their archives, so that's what I'm going to do.

It took only three days before Bad Dogs Anonymous knew that Bob was just too much dog for them and threw in the towel. They recommended their residence program, Incorrigible Dogs Anonymous, or IDA, as it is known locally.

The following Monday, Bob and I met with the counselors at IDA, who seemed a rather nervous lot. They kept looking at the transcript of Bob’s time in plain old BDA, and kept muttering things like, “You know that success depends entirely on the canine.” And “Not all dogs are meant to be domestic pets” and “You do know that our fees are payable regardless of the outcome of the program, don’t you?”

When I left, I looked back at Bob and he was looking at me with his puppy dog eyes. I might have been more sympathetic if I had not just read in the Statesman that police had recovered a taxi in Brown County, missing from Austin since a taxi-driver had been car-jacked after being called to a fake address on Cameron Road a week ago. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Bob?

I didn’t hear anything from the folks at IDA all week and I really thought that was a good sign – until I drove over there on Friday afternoon to take Bob home for week-end furlough and found the building locked and seemingly abandoned. I called the number but service had been disconnected, and when I called the folks at plain old BDA they put me on hold and never picked up the phone again.

I was a little wary of the whole situation, but Bob did not show up next door and Monday I got a fancy certificate in the mail that said Bob the Dog had completed all aspects of his rehab in exemplary order and that there absolutely was no need for further treatment. I was dubious, but frankly, I could live without Bob and his escapades. I just had to keep telling myself: This was not my dog! This was NOT my dog!

So actually I was pretty happy when I got a text message from Bob Monday night. It said simply, “FOUND OUT I CAN YODEL. ME & MATES HEADED FOR NASHVILLE.”

I just wondered who paid for the cell phone. Silly me.


Next - Tishomingo Takedown

The Adventures of Bob the Dog – Impounded!

Time to take a breather, so I'm taking a blogger break for a while. I notice that other bloggers, columnists, and cartoonists pull up things from their archives, so that's what I'm going to do.

I’ll be honest and say that after some time had passed and it got strangely quiet next door – no more howling at the moon – I really, deep-down, was hoping that Bob had run off to seek his fortune elsewhere. I felt a little guilty about it, but this was not my dog, people! I should have known that I wouldn’t be that lucky and sure enough, just when I was feeling a little smug, I got a call from the Brown County dog pound. They said they had my dog; did I want to pay the fees and come get him or what?

“What do you mean you have my dog? I don’t have a dog!”
“Well, I’ve got a good-looking Blue Heeler here wearing a tag with your name and phone number on it. Is your dog named ‘Bob’?” the voice said.
“Let me talk to the dog.”
“Excuse me?” the voice said.
“Never mind. How much is the fine?
“Two hundred dollars or three 50-lb bags of Bugle Boy dog food with real beef morsels and enroll the dog in rehab. Your choice.” said the voice.
“I gotta go buy some Bugle boy. I’ll be there in the morning.”
“Be sure it's with ‘real beef morsels.’ That’s the only kind we accept.”

Turns out that they caught Bob trying to break into Underwood’s Cafeteria in Brownwood in the middle of the night. On the way home he said that he had paid good money for what he thought was the alarm code and that he should have known better than to trust a Pomeranian.

I asked him how he got to Brownwood and he said I really didn’t want to know.

I asked him how it was that he had a dog tag with my name and phone number on it and he said he ordered it over the Internet right after it became obvious that Cole was not coming back.

I started to ask him how he paid for the alarm code and ID tag, but I thought better of it. Bob is right. Some things you just don’t want to know.

“You know you’re going to have to do a rehab program, don’t you? I have to send a certificate of completion to the pound.” Bob allowed as how he could do that and he had heard that Bad Dogs Anonymous probably had the best recovery rate, so would I mind getting him in there?

So Bob the Dog is now enrolled in Bad Dogs Anonymous. I drop him off every morning and pick him up every evening. It does not bother me that when I pick him up, all the staff and administration hide behind closed doors until we leave. Much.

I’m really, really hoping that this is going to be the end of it.

I’m such a fool.

 Next - Bad Dogs Anonymous