Going North, Part 1: Baaaaad dog

Lily is a baaaaaaad dog. As you know, we MOVED to the Philadelphia area Monday. Two days ago. Yes, that's right. We moved. As in, we don't live in North Little Rock anymore. Or Arkansas.

So of COURSE Lily had to fly in the cabin with us. OF COURSE there would be an embargo on pets flying as cargo due to the heat. OF COURSE her regular, old carrier was an inch and a half too big. Soooo I went to Petsmart and bought her the pooty snooty pink and brown mesh carrier. She DID not like it, and wasted no time in literally rolling around in it on the floor at the LR airport - see photo!!!

Well. Forty dollars later.

We are at the airport in Little Rock. We've given Lily the doggy sedative about 2 1/2 hours earlier. We've had a trial run the weekend before, and thought a hefty 1/2 of a pill was about right.

WERE WE EVER WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Lily apparently gets very agitated when she is on this sedative, and fights it, or doesn't like how it makes her feel....or whatever. I don't know. She fights it, as well as anyone who dares has the THOUGHT of looking in her direction. Or general vicinity. Or the same zip code. Whatever. You know what I mean.

Soooo. We are in the waiting area, by the gate for our flight to take off to Atlanta. Lily decides she doesn't like whatever and goes gonzo-crazy, complete with that high-pitched yelping. Everyone in the tri-state area looks directly at me. I turn red. I apologize. A lot. And beg the dear Lord above to make her SHUT THE FRIG UP.

Did I mention we have 11 bags we lugged to the check-in desk, and each kid had the rolling suitcase/carry-on, as well as various and sundry other bags. Plus the necessary Diet Coke. Of course.

We board the plane, first of course. I mean, could we GET a smaller plane people??? Maybe something like a crop duster? Or a bicycle with wings???? Geez. I'm whacking the "Medallion Members/Gold Crown/"I fly alot" members with my carry-on which is akin to South Dakota in size. Not to mention Lily/Cujo is yelping/scratching/barking/plotting the end of humanity as we know it/growling/destroying her carrier as we plod on down the aisle- I mean, narrow-passage-way-barely-wide-enough-for-a-high-school-cheerleader. So Cole and I are together. Dan and Katie are together some two aisles over. And Jack is somewhere else. Poor guy. Heaven forbid we sit in the SAME TIME ZONE. Thank you Delta.

In this limited time as we zoom through the skies to Atlanta, Lily works the seam at the end of her carrier into a nice, dog nosed-sized hole. Forty dollars, people, for this new Delta airlines-compliant pet carrier. FORTY DOLLARS!!!!!!!! PLUS, the $125 we paid just for the privilege of carrying her sorry a** in the cabin with us. We get our complimentary drinks, cookies, peanuts, and pass the time finding clouds shaped like turtles, bears, and I-don't-remember-whatelse. We land in Atlanta, and naturally Lily is drug-induced paranoid about all the goings-on, and by the time we sludge our way to the food court, is near rabid-like in her agitation. My rules-oriented child, Jack, reaches a fever-pitched paranoia when I take her out of the carrier ("NON-SERVICE ANIMALS MUST REMAIN IN AIRLINE-APPROVED CARRIERS AT ALL TIMES") in order to soothe her and give her a little water (WHERE is the bar around here?!?). Dan gets us all burgers, Lily included, and we plod on to our gate for the final leg of our move.

The Atlanta airport is nice. Like, Diet Dr. Pepper nice. But Dr. Mengele - I mean, Dan, won't let me slow down to grab one and so we race on through the terminal. We have to take the tram. This is like something on Saturday Night Live (like the previous four hours haven't been). Dan picks a particular doorway to get on the tram, and of COURSE the one he picks is where Pilot-Smarty-Pants suddenly decides he does NOT want to go where this tram takes him and so gets off. OF COURSE he cuts right in front of Katie, Cole and me, and Dan has to sacrifice one of the many carry-ons to the tram doors to keep them open for us to get on with him all while screaming "GET ON! GET ON GET ON GET ON GET ON GET ON! STAY WITH ME! STAY WITH ME STAY WITH MESTAY WITH MESTAY WITH ME! GET ON STAY WITH ME!!"

So we get on. Carry-on bags swaying, kids are whining, and the dog is attempting to blast out of the carrier. Which I now have to carry on its end, and keep one hand ready to shove her back in. We arrive at the gate for the next flight, mercifully just in time to board. Dan in his frazzled state could not (1) read our boarding passes, (2) forgot the English language, or (3) wanted to play a practical joke on me, and gave me the wrong seat assignments. We sit down where we think are our seats. There is crying and gnashing of teeth as Katie and Cole bicker over who gets to sit by me. Who knew I was this popular!! The matter is settled with bribery: who gets to use the ipad, the ipod, Dad's iphone, and I think some candy and dollar bills might also have changed hands. I don't know. About this time, young whipper snapper Johnny Jazz comes up and says he has seat such-and-such -- the exact one I'm in. Which is the middle seat. Two rows up, mind you, is where I'm supposed to be, but nooooooo Johnny Jazz with his hat cockeyed on his head and wife-beater t-shirt on doesn't want THAT middle seat. He wants THIS middle seat.

Fine. The aisle is backing up with irate passengers, and Israel and Palestine have begun exchanging gunfire again over seat assignments (that's Katie and Cole, people). I drag Lily's carrier out from under the seat, my backpack, and gather the various items already stuffed in the seat in front of me, and we CLIMBBBBBB over the guy next to us and stumble over a couple more people to get in the exact same seats two rows up. Happy Johnny?

All that settled, and Israel and Palestine simmer down, preoccupied with whatever they scored in the last round of negotiations. The only way Lily is satisfied is to sit - semi-in her carrier - on Dan's lap leaned against the window (see photo). For some strange reason, the stewardess people/flight attendants whatever they are called do not say one word to us about her not being on the floor under the seat in front of us. Hmm. Odd, I know.

We make it to Philly. We get off the plane, and I know we must have looked as haggard as we felt. The last time Dan and I came to Philly to house-hunt just a couple of weeks ago, when we were at baggage claim, you could hardly beat the guys off with a stick - you know, the ones who want to "help" you with your luggage. This time, we couldn't have found one if our lives depended on it. So Dan gets two of the small carts, and we pile everything on them. We wait for close to four eternities for the shuttle bus to get to the terminal to take us to Avis to pick up our rental. We get to Avis, and while Dan is discussing our options with the employees (as an aside, if I had known they were discussing anything but the largest vehicle available I would have promptly marched my people and dog in there and put a stop to it - I mean, why even bother considering a van, or whatever, if a full-length suburban is available for our 865 bags and five people AND it has a DVD PLAYER!!!!!!!!!!!), the clouds are starting to gather. A few drops fall from the skies, and some lightening appears in the distance. My oldest son, Ed Buckner, immediately panics and runs inside. FINALLY Dan wraps up the paperwork and we load in the Suburban. Annnnndddd the downpour starts. It's a torrential downpour complete with enough lightening sufficient to light and heat the continental U.S., and the GPS/Garmin thing Avis gave us is not working!!!!! I get on Dan's iphone and am trying to direct him to the hotel where we have reservations in Exton.

As fate would have it, there is either massive storm damage, a wreck, or I don't know, but the road is blocked for what appears to me to be the next five counties. We find an alternate route on the iphone (THANK YOU STEVE JOBS), and finally make it to Exton.

Now traffic in the northeastern U.S. (at least southeastern Pennsylvania) is another matter altogether. It's very complicated. You can't just turn left, you simpleton. You have to take the exit ramp on the right, double-back a couple times, dig 14 feet down, take the ramp behind you, and turn in a circle four times. Then you have to find the ONE way into the parking lot. We southerners have it right, I am convinced. Pick a place, anyplace, and there are no less than 26 entrances into that parking lot. Not here. No sir. There is one magic way into that place, and that's it, buster. There are traffic patterns here that will require another college degree to master.

We put probably 100 miles on the vehicle trying to get to the hotel. All the time we are within five square miles of it. We finally arrive, and I am guess-timating it's about 10 pm now. We are, as you might imagine, extremely tired, frustrated, but now excited to be at our hotel. We unpack, and well....the rest of the story is for another post. Please stay tuned. It's going to be an exciting adventure, I promise.