When you fly out of Atlanta on a Friday afternoon, you expect to feel put-upon.  It starts at the gate.  Jesus save me from the carry-ons, you think, as the gate agent says, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a full flight, limited bins.  We’re asking ten to fifteen volunteers check bags for an on-time departure.”  The thing you carry: a backpack, no wheels.  The gate agent will ask, “Is it squishable?”

You hardly expect, no way of knowing, the treasure already stowed in the belly of the Delta MD-80.

Your boarding pass reads: GEN.  Jesus save me from the boarding groups.  Groups boarding before General Economy: Travelers Needing Special Assistance; Unaccompanied Minors; Medallion; First Class; Business Class; Comfort Class; Military Personnel with Credentials; Travelers Stowing Retractable Strollers; Travelers Calming Recalcitrant Babies; MAIN Cabin 1; MAIN Cabin 2; MAIN Cabin 3.

You anticipate an uncredentialed body in your seat and prepare a polite redress.  Every time you board a flight, to anywhere, you expect a body in your seat.  Nobody is ever in your seat.  But today is Friday, December 20th, busiest travel day of the year and you never know.

In line behind you, only two left to board, a smartly-dressed, Nicole Kidman look-a-like and, last but leashed, her cinnamon mini-doodle.  The doodle has its own backpack.  A therapy dog?  A patch, a dog tag of sorts, is sewed on the pack: Mobile Dog Gear.  The website’s dog tag-line: Make sure your pet jet-setter has everything she needs for her next trip with Mobile Dog Gear’s Weekender Backpack Pet Travel Bag!

Overhead bins are crammed.  Full.  Shut.  In your seat sits a man with meaty hands.  Jesus save me.

You don’t bother with your boarding pass, something in his manner – you’d say slow to rise, if only.  He leans a shoulder across the aisle from his (your) seat, slaps a paw, says “This here must be mine.”  You hesitate, confused, thinking, is he moving or not?  Not looking up, the man says, “You want me to move?”

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