My Little Pony Won’t Fit Through Airport Security

Have you heard that if you get a doctor’s note any animal can become a service animal? That is crazy. Of course it is, the new rule applies to the crazies that can’t cope without their dog, cat or yes, even miniature horse. Restaurants have to seat them, hotels give them turn down service and airlines are required to let them fly in the cabin.

Animal dependency is no longer confined to owning a purse dog.

What does this have to do with the wedding? Snowbird is up Little Cottonwood Canyon which is a watershed area meaning NO PETS ALLOWED. Fenway cannot attend the nuptials! That or just pay the $1000 fine if we get caught with him.

The idea of boarding Fen is very upsetting. Kyky is trying to convince me to seek psychiatric care and get him a service dog license. I refuse! Not because I don’t want my tiny man at the wedding but because I think the psychos that are doing this are ruining a system. Tadaki and his fellow CCI graduates have been through intense training and are incredible dogs. They have earned their certification and perform a valuable service for their companions. I hate these people that are making it hard for true service dogs to get on airplanes or into restaurants.

However . . . recent events have me thinking about joining the asylum.

My sleep pattern has changed in the last few months. I find myself waking up with clinched fists and a racing heart beat! Suddenly I can’t remember by usual psychedelic dreams. Sometimes when I wake up I wonder if I have a subconscious desire to take LSD. Instead I wake up with an overwhelming sense of panic and draw a complete blank to the dream that sent me there. I physically unfold my fingers, get a drink of water and try to get back to sleep.

I’m told I’m having sleep anxiety attacks. Great! Maybe I really do have a need to see a shrink.

Then Kyky noticed a new pattern. When Fenway sleeps over I don’t have these anxiety attacks. Instead of having night terrors, I have insane Fenway dreams.

SeaWorld introduces their newest Shamu trainers – Abihell and Fenway! Come see the world’s youngest Killer Whale trainer Abihell and her sidekick weiner dog Fenway. Yep, that is my dreams latest advertising campaign for SeaWorld. I went to see the show. The grand finale is the two of them surfing Shamu around the arena and splashing guests. Oh no! An accident. Fen fell off. And of course he is wrapped in a down comforter to keep him warm while working in the arctic waters. The down comforter takes on water and pulls him under! No worries, Baby Shamu to the rescue. Suddenly Fenway bursts to the surface on the nose of Baby Shamu and jumps back into place next to Abihell. The arena erupts and he waves his little paw as they finish the show.

Abihell loves this dream and constantly asks me to tell it over and over.

I’m hiking in Driggs, Idaho -- showing off the quaint little town to a few of my friends. This has to be a dream, I DON’T hike! We stop at the Targhee bar for a beer. OK, the dream is becoming more my style now. My guy friends have to go to the bathroom so Fenway and I wait out by the lockers for them. And who is there taking off his sneakers, why Michael Jordan of course. Fen jumps out of my arms and runs up to start kissing Michael’s legs. “Fenny get back here! No kisses! It is rude!” I was so embarrassed. My dog is licking the legs of a basketball God and he won’t stop. To my surprise, Michael tells me it is ok. Then he bends down and with his championship ring encrusted fingers lifts Fen up to his face. “Oh Fenway, you are so cute.” Michael then makes little googly kissy lips and lets my dog lick him all over his face. Next thing I know he is posing with my dog for a photo shoot. We chat a little about the NBA Finals between the Jazz and the Bulls and how I saw his last shot as #23.

The morning after this dream I had to Facebook my friend from Chicago to let him know that my weiner dog got to meet Michael Jordan and his haven’t! I’m pretty sure he tried to conjur up his own dream meeting between Michael and his dogs Zeplyn and Russell.

Fen is growling. He never growls in bed. He only growls and barks at things in the backyard. I roll over to see if I can figure out his problem, and there, standing at the bottom of my stairwell is a man dressed all in black. OMG, it is Richard Ramirez The Nightstalker! I can tell by his trademark tennis shoes! Holy crap! What am I going to do? There is no escaping my basement. Then all of a sudden Fenway transformed into a weiner dog version of Cujo. His teeth were enormous and his growl extra vicious. He stood in prairie dog stance and sort of reminded me of The Crane from Karate Kid. My dog was going to kick The Nightstalker’s ass! Richard Ramirez raised his pentagram tattooed hand to calm Cujo and whispered, “Holy Satan.” He then calmly and quietly backed his way up the stairs. Fen chased him out the back door while I called 911.

OK, maybe Fenway and I watch way too much Truecrime TV. But my 8lb dog chased off The Nightstalker!

I don’t need Valium or Prozac, I just need my dog to sleep with me and the anxiety attacks don’t happen. Kyky is calling to get me an appointment. Fenway might make it to the wedding after all. And I might have a custom made black satin straight jacket.

Blood and Wine!

Did you know that there is a cab called Gladiator?  It was a truly thumbs up moment at the liquor store today.  And the thumbs were saving me.

It has been quite a week.

A nineteen hour road trip to the middle of nowhere Montana with my mother.  Kyky is lucky that there will be a GOB at her wedding after that.  I truly wanted to throw her from the vehicle at ninety miles an hour several times over the course of the thousand mile trip.  She was an anxious, mean  and selfish passenger.  I was supposed to be greatful that she accompanied me.  It was too dangerous for me to go alone.  Really?  What would she have done for me if the car had broken down?  If I was attacked?  If I got lost?  Broken down - she would have told me to call my dad.  Attacked - I would have been murdered while in the process of trying to gather her oxygen stuff and prod her out of the way of danger.  Lost - really, isn't she always lost?  I'll be nice.  The couple of hours that she actually visited were kind of nice.  I still took a valium when I got home!  But the trip was well worth it.  I paid tribute to a woman most deserving of the life celebration her community and family honored her with.  And my best friend appreciated my being there, even if she didn't say it.

My dad's best friend passed away on Tuesday.  An awful death.  He was alone on a business trip and had a stroke.  The hotel staff found him twelve hours later after his wife made a distressed call looking for him.  My dad is on vacation in St. Maarten.  Unreachable to most.  Unable to make it to town for the services.  I am his ambassador.  I will send a card of condolences to John's widow.  Kyky and I will make the drive to Idaho for the services.  We are not my dad, but we can represent him.  It is important to him, and therefore, important to us.

Finally, though kind of trivial next to two deaths -- bridesmaid dress shopping!  Kyky can't think about bridesmaid dresses without overwhelming anxiety.  How much can she expect people to pay?  Should the Maid of Honor be dressed differently than the rest so she stands out?  Short?  Long?  Strapless?

Last night we found a great dress and at a good price.  Four out of five loved it and even said "I'll totally wear it again."  Silly saying.  Everyone knows they won't! The dress is like the jeans in the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.  It fits the busties as well as the less endowed.  It fits the bridesmaids blessed with height as well as the shorties.  The jock and the tree hugger both like it.  The future sister-in-laws liked the price and loved the pockets.  The only one with an issue -- the girl who doesn't like her legs.  The one desiring a full length gown rather than a sexy above the knee hem.

Problem solved -- just add a laser spider vein removal to the wedding budget and everyone is happy.

Stress, Stress, Stress.  How to escape?  It is Friday and that means a new episode of Spartacus.  An evening of tiny loin clothes and abs of steel.  A game of how many times can the word cock be used in a single hour.  And what would gladiator battles be without a glass or bottle of red wine?  A stop at the liquor store and my evening is perfect.  The week's stresses fade away just like the lovely Thracian's past.  The bottle of Gladiator Cab is fading away pretty nicely too.