While my re-entry into civilization was softened by a brief stay at my friends’ house on the West Coast, my logistical re-entry onto the East Coast was anything but easy. After unpacking the van, boxing up items to be shipped (including my bike), packing up the rest in my suitcase and buying Willy one of those chic dog carriers that usually schlep cute purebreds, not scruffy mutts, we were ready to roll. I had booked us a red-eye flight on the advice of my friend and I agreed that nighttime would be a fine time to fly with a dog. On the day of my flight, which departed at 10 p.m., I realized I had forgotten to let the van rental company know that I would be dropping off the beloved Shroom, but after hours, and that posed the first problem in my journey. After sending pictures to assure them that I would be returning the van in fine condition, they agreed to my after-hours procedure and sent me the combination to their lot. When I arrived, I realized that the combo they gave me was to a massive gate leading to their parking area (I was assuming it would just be a simple drop box scenario). I managed to wrangle it open, park The Shroom, get my bags and Willy out of the van and to the sidewalk when I realized I was on an access road a few miles from LAX, with no signs of life except cars shooting by, thumping with music. I toyed with the idea of flagging one down and offering them $20 to get us those few miles, but thought better of it and slogged down the sidewalk and found a Comfort Inn (how great would it have been if it were a Motel 6?!). I marched in and inquired when the next shuttle to the airport was, as if I were a guest instead of a dirty camper from down the road, and he said I had just missed it, so I asked him to call me a cab.

And it all worked! I got to the airport, boarded our flight and settled in for our midnight run, and that’s when the baby started crying in the row in front of me, the mother’s seat half in my lap and the lights overhead blaring during service. After about an hour of this, everything finally quieted down, the lights were turned off and the soft sounds of snoring could be heard up and down the aisles. After assuring myself that Willy was OK after his first take-off (I think) I, too, tried for sleep, which I have very rarely ever attained in flight—and this time would be no different, so I resigned myself to listening to my audiobook. And that’s when the mother in front of me turned on her iPad light and started to flash it under her seat, looking for something, but also meaning that she was pointing it straight at Willy. I let her have it, I’m afraid, and it was not one of my prouder moments. In my defense; a) I had been charged $150 for the dog and she not a penny for her child; b) this was in first class and her seat was obviously broken and listing precariously back into me; and c) this was my first flight with a dog in the cabin and I was a little on edge. It all ended well, I’m happy to report, as she and I apologized to each other upon landing in Philadelphia.

From there, it would just be a short hop to Hartford, but I purposefully built in enough time to run Willy outside for a pee break. That accomplished, we went back through security and they asked me to get him to go through the device on his own, instead of my carrying him through as I had done in LAX. I warned them it might not work and pushed his little butt through ahead of me, and then watched him take off around the TSA area, security guards trying to catch him.

Two hours later, we landed in Hartford, retrieved our bags, stepped outside to find my boyfriend waiting with my other dog, and we were home, a little worse for the wear and dog-tired, but home nonetheless.