Read Online No Buddy Left Behind: Bringing U.S. Troops' Dogs and Cats Safely Home From the Combat Zone by Terri Crisp; C. J. Hurn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terri Crisp; C. J. Hurn
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was delayed."
He turned to speak in Arabic to the man seated at the desk. I had no idea what they were saying, and their facial expressions were not providing any clues. Being unfamiliar with Middle Eastern mannerisms and body language, I found it impossible to tell whether the agent was a helpful friend or a play-by-the-book foe.
All the other United passengers who approached the desk were told to proceed to the departure gate, while I stood like a penitent sinner at the end of the counter, feeling more helpless than I cared to think about.
The airport PA system announced, "All passengers for United Airlines flight number 981, please proceed to Gate 21 for an on-time departure."
The man with whom I had been dealing returned to the counter. "First we need to locate the dog. Then we'll weigh the crate to determine how much the freight charge is. In the meantime, please fill out these documents."
I was still stuck at "We need to locate the dog." I wanted to scream, "You're telling me you don't know where Charlie is?"
But this was not the time to speak my mind. I filled out the forms while the man went in search of Charlie. I crossed my fingers, hoping he'd be on our side. After completing the paperwork, I paced in front of the counter. The minutes continued to tick by. Once again the voice over the PA system reminded all United Airlines passengers that they should now be boarding the flight for Washington, D.C.
Trying to curb my rising anxiety, I asked myself, "Has anybody died?" The answer was "no" at that point, so everything was still fixable. When I'm faced with challenges, this question has turned more anxiety-filled situations around than I care to count. All I am dealing with is another solvable problem. At the next flight-boarding announcement, I tuned out the annoying voice.
The tap-tapping of the United representative's leather-soled shoes preceded his breathless announcement, "We found him! I've got the weight." He waved a slip of paper in the air as if approaching the finish line of a marathon. He slipped behind the counter, wiping sweat off his brow. For a man whose culture didn't like dogs, he certainly was making an effort to ensure that Charlie and I caught the flight. He had proved himself to be a helpful friend.
After some quick calculations, the agent told me what I owed. I wasted no time giving him my debit card and prayed the woman at the credit union had been correct when she said the card would be accepted in Kuwait. I stared at the small machine, willing the slip of paper to scroll out, confirming that payment had been accepted. Suddenly the machine hummed and began to print, and I expelled one more of the many sighs of relief that had passed my lips that night.
"Now go," the man urged after I signed.
"What about my dog? Is there still enough time to get him on board?"
"They are loading the animal right now," he said. For the first time since we'd met, the agent smiled.
"Thank you!" In America I would have given him a hug or at least a handshake, but here I could only hope that the look in my eyes would convey the depth of my gratitude.
I sprinted through the congested airport, which, thankfully, isn't very large. An airline representative stood at the jet way entrance, her hand ready to pull the door shut. "Wait!" Handing my passport and boarding pass to one agent and my carry-on bag to security for screening, I was the last passenger to slip through and board the plane. I slid my briefcase into the open overhead compartment and collapsed into my seat.
"Hey, you made it," the young man seated beside me grinned. "When I overheard you at the counter say you were bringing a dog from Iraq to the U.S. for a soldier, I was pulling for you. I sure wish the puppy I rescued in Iraq could have been saved and brought home. Leaving my dog behind was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."
His sad words echoed in my mind, as if foreshadowing that this would not be my last trip to Iraq.
As
He turned to speak in Arabic to the man seated at the desk. I had no idea what they were saying, and their facial expressions were not providing any clues. Being unfamiliar with Middle Eastern mannerisms and body language, I found it impossible to tell whether the agent was a helpful friend or a play-by-the-book foe.
All the other United passengers who approached the desk were told to proceed to the departure gate, while I stood like a penitent sinner at the end of the counter, feeling more helpless than I cared to think about.
The airport PA system announced, "All passengers for United Airlines flight number 981, please proceed to Gate 21 for an on-time departure."
The man with whom I had been dealing returned to the counter. "First we need to locate the dog. Then we'll weigh the crate to determine how much the freight charge is. In the meantime, please fill out these documents."
I was still stuck at "We need to locate the dog." I wanted to scream, "You're telling me you don't know where Charlie is?"
But this was not the time to speak my mind. I filled out the forms while the man went in search of Charlie. I crossed my fingers, hoping he'd be on our side. After completing the paperwork, I paced in front of the counter. The minutes continued to tick by. Once again the voice over the PA system reminded all United Airlines passengers that they should now be boarding the flight for Washington, D.C.
Trying to curb my rising anxiety, I asked myself, "Has anybody died?" The answer was "no" at that point, so everything was still fixable. When I'm faced with challenges, this question has turned more anxiety-filled situations around than I care to count. All I am dealing with is another solvable problem. At the next flight-boarding announcement, I tuned out the annoying voice.
The tap-tapping of the United representative's leather-soled shoes preceded his breathless announcement, "We found him! I've got the weight." He waved a slip of paper in the air as if approaching the finish line of a marathon. He slipped behind the counter, wiping sweat off his brow. For a man whose culture didn't like dogs, he certainly was making an effort to ensure that Charlie and I caught the flight. He had proved himself to be a helpful friend.
After some quick calculations, the agent told me what I owed. I wasted no time giving him my debit card and prayed the woman at the credit union had been correct when she said the card would be accepted in Kuwait. I stared at the small machine, willing the slip of paper to scroll out, confirming that payment had been accepted. Suddenly the machine hummed and began to print, and I expelled one more of the many sighs of relief that had passed my lips that night.
"Now go," the man urged after I signed.
"What about my dog? Is there still enough time to get him on board?"
"They are loading the animal right now," he said. For the first time since we'd met, the agent smiled.
"Thank you!" In America I would have given him a hug or at least a handshake, but here I could only hope that the look in my eyes would convey the depth of my gratitude.
I sprinted through the congested airport, which, thankfully, isn't very large. An airline representative stood at the jet way entrance, her hand ready to pull the door shut. "Wait!" Handing my passport and boarding pass to one agent and my carry-on bag to security for screening, I was the last passenger to slip through and board the plane. I slid my briefcase into the open overhead compartment and collapsed into my seat.
"Hey, you made it," the young man seated beside me grinned. "When I overheard you at the counter say you were bringing a dog from Iraq to the U.S. for a soldier, I was pulling for you. I sure wish the puppy I rescued in Iraq could have been saved and brought home. Leaving my dog behind was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."
His sad words echoed in my mind, as if foreshadowing that this would not be my last trip to Iraq.
As
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