Art is one of my good friend's husky/hybrid dog. She's had him for almost 11 years. Unfortunately, the hammer was dropped on her by an complete ass and it necessitated a permanent change in his place of residence.
Imagine someone telling your child had to go... it's heartbreaking and unthinkable and for her, the only other option available was for her to put this beautiful animal down.
The other option was for him to make a permanent move to the beautiful and lush state of Alaska. This is where his human counterpart/sibling resides. It was the start of a painful journey for all involved.
When it was decided that Arthyr would move to Alaska, a very complicated ball was put into play. It involved about a million different details to be handled, such as numerous conversations, long distance phone calls, more emails than you could count, more decisions, both accepted and rejected, more changes, unforeseen monkey-wrenches thrown in for good measure, misinformation, frustration, completely unexpected cash expenditures...
It was in a word... Chaos.
I came into play as transport when I borrowed a friend's SUV to get Zoya and Art to Chicago O' Hare. His travel crate alone was huge. As you can tell from the photos above, this is not a small animal by any means. He's actually even larger, present day. Who would have thought that possible?
The grief my friend felt over having to say farewell to her constant and devoted companion was so heartbreaking to see. The only little bit of consolation was that at least he wouldn't be put down.
Getting him loaded into the car was one of the first issues of the day. We were forced to muzzle him because it was not something he wanted to do. At maybe at least a hundred pounds if not more, this was more complicated than you can imagine but we did it and we hit the road for about a five hour drive.
As we drove away and passed the home of the person that started all this bullcrap, I flew the bird the entire time we passed by and hoped that he saw me. Stupid and petty? Yes, but as I didn't have enough money for bail had I put a flaming bag of Art's crap on his front steps it was a safer option. And believe me, had I done it, it wouldn't have been a small bag by any means!
The first sign that things might not go off as smoothly as we had hoped, happened after about 30 minutes into the trip. With no advance warning, the stress got to him and he dropped some of the aforementioned crap. I was so glad I had used his dog pad and old towels to cover things up!
So, I screeched to a halt at the first exit, thankfully only less than a mile ahead, and while Zoya kept him from escaping the SUV, I managed to dispose of the offending matter and clean up and alleviate the smell with wet wipes. And to think I was concerned about him barfing. Who knew?
The next obstacle didn't happen until Rockford Illinois. We turned into a truck stop and since we had to go potty we figured naturally that so did Art. We were right, he certainly had to go. That was when things started to go horribly wrong.
When it came to getting him back into the SUV... it just wasn't happening. Our option was to once again get him muzzled. While trying to do just that, he did something I foolishly should have anticipated. He nailed me and I'm not talking a nip.
I should have been better prepared and I paid for it. Luck was with me as I had a watch with a thick metal band and the cuffs of both a denim shirt and jacket to cushion the bite.
A dog that size has incredible bite pressure and I discovered this to be the bone-chilling truth when I discovered later that night that I needed a pliers to remove my watch because he'd compressed the latch nearly shut. If you saw the resultant bruises you'd understand the full scope of this incident.
After almost an hour it was clear that we wouldn't be going anywhere soon. What a dilemma. So after four phone calls, we were offered a glimmer of hope through a mobile vet service.
She agreed to come sedate him but it would cost more than a hundred dollars in cash. So the decision was made and the dog was sedated. This was okay partly because the airline said it wasn't a problem. The vet made it very clear that sedation could cause him to stop breathing during the flight but it was a chance we had to take.
As the medication began to work, it was still a major production getting his clearly drugged body into the crate. He still had more than enough strength and attempted to defend himself in his terror and confusion by trying to bite.
Thankfully the drug slowed him enough to get him muzzled but it still took almost 10 minutes to get him in that crate. This was also with the help of the vet and her assistant so you can see how much a fight this dog was putting up. We finally managed to get him in, loaded the crate in the SUV and headed back out onto the road, bruised, battered, gun-shy and completely freaked out. But at least on our way once more.
We made O'Hare and managed to find where Zoya and the dog had to be dropped off and I was directed to a parking area. Everything was full except the remote parking lots. When they call it 'remote parking' they mean it. I had to take two buses and an el to get back to the airport. Sheesh!!!
I found Zoya checking in and she was quite unhappy. Seems the airline neglected to tell her about a $75.00 fee she'd have to pay upon check-in. She was so far less than thrilled, you can't even imagine. So... she gets checked in, and the men that were to take the crate to the holding area showed up and that was when the biggest bomb was dropped.
TSA would not let him be checked through until they could see completely into the crate. I was dumbfounded with complete and utter disbelief. Our offer of a flashlight, an x-ray... fell on deaf ears. If they couldn't inspect the crate, it wasn't going on the plane.
I understand about these restrictions, and I understand why they are in place but there should have been alternatives (like letting him go through the x-ray... they have big enough ones that scans all freight!)
So there we are, opening the crate to let him out, in an area filled with people! I had the irrational fear that this could be much like letting a live badger loose on a full plane. We are talking about an animal that was clearly and completely stressed to the max.
What made it worse that once his back end had barely cleared the crate when we had to yell at them to check the damn thing because the dinks weren't even paying attention!!! Our hopes of getting him back in before he realized it went right out the window then and there.
We were then forced to muzzle him again (and the sedation wasn't as heavy as before) I managed it but the fight was on. There we are struggling with him he's snarling and snapping through the muzzle and catches me once again (other hand and luckily with the muzzle no complete compression) At this moment I became aware of perhaps 10 airline and TSA employees standing around and laughing at us trying to get him crated.
This was when I lost my temper.
It's something I do very, very rarely but I simply lost it. We were on a slippery marble-like floor and just when we'd make some headway, the crate would slip. So I very contemptuously snarled something along the lines of, well I rather tersely asked someone, anyone to stop being a**holes and at least stand at the back of the crate to keep it from slipping.
Suddenly two or three people emerged, chastised by my outburst, as the others scattered. We managed to get one to hold a lead threaded through the grate of the crate and after nearly 15 minutes got him enclosed once more.
I had by this point become aware of the fact that in his distress and fear, he'd peed on me. I didn't know for sure what upset me more, the fact that I got peed on or the reason behind it. It was his terror that ultimately won that debate. Then as the adrenaline level started to taper off I realized I had hurt myself pretty badly in the process.
Oh, and in a situation when you can't think of anything worse happening... her flight was going to be delayed for two hours. That meant she wouldn't be arriving in Anchorage any earlier than 1 a.m. And I thought I had it bad all I was facing was a seven hour drive.
We said our goodbyes and I headed back to the car. Aware of a couple of people kind of looking around trying to figure out "What is that smell and where is it coming from?" I immediately pasted the same look on my face and looked around too.
When I got back to the SUV, I suddenly decompressed and cried for a half hour. Then I crawled in the back, stripped off my peed on jeans, used the wet wipes to clean myself off, pulled my other jeans on, threw away the pee jeans and finally headed for home.
After returning home, I took great comfort in The Wookie and after a Saturday morning visit to the Walk-in Clinic, felt even more comfort from the pain meds! Ya' just gotta look for the positive!
As an update, three days after arriving at his new home he is indeed a dog vindicated. He's adjusting well with no apparent grudge against Zoya for the trip and has not shown any aggression whatsoever.
Not that surprising considering he is no longer being forced into some awful form of torture by either Zoya or myself. Enjoy your new home King Arthyr... you'll soon hear the stirring of your ancestors in your soul.
