Puppy in a Purse

A lot of things have happened the last few years that I never thought would happen.

I absolutely cannot stay out past midnight any longer. It was not that long ago that leaving one gathering and going onto another at 1 a.m. was not unheard of.

It’s nearly impossible to read a restaurant menu without glasses and a flashlight.

And I traded sexy car for an equally sexy car with a back seat that’s much easier to get in and out of.

But most curious of all . . . I turned into ‘that guy’ at the airport. You know the one . . . the middle aged man making his way through the terminal with a fluffy white dog squirming around in a flight approved pet carrier.

A puppy in a purse

I tried it for the first time last spring, and learned that the vet prescribed sedative had absolutely no effect on Sniffer, but was mighty tempting to me. I was 100% certain Sniffer was going to cause a scene on the plane, and we’d be banned from our return flight. I’d then have to spend one million dollars on a one way car rental and one week’s vacation time driving back to Fargo from Boca.

As it turned out, fluffy white puppies are absolute celebrity VIPs with airline personel, and most passengers. Plus, the background noise on the planed muffled out any whining.

It pretty much covered up Sniffer’s whimpering, too.

Today’s Gay Agenda: Up bright an early for a 9 a.m. flight to Boca. Ricky is infinitely more concerned about my behavior on the plane than Sniffer’s.