Pure Joy (6 page)

She said that if Minnie was just a pet or companion dog, she had to have all the paperwork. For entry into Europe, she also needed an international chip, which she had (not just an American one—it’s about the size of a grain of rice under their skin, but when scanned, it gives all the owner’s ID information. Modern technology!). And she needed a ticket, which we also had.
But
if I told the airline that I was too afraid to fly without my dog, in that case I could take a dog of
any
size onto the plane with me (even a Great Dane or a Saint Bernard), it does not need to be contained, it can lie openly and
unconfined at my feet, needs no paperwork, and flies for free, with no ticket! I was stunned. All you need, if you declare her as a service dog, is a letter from your doctor confirming that you’re afraid to fly and need your dog freely with you and not confined. I was amazed. So there was poor Minnie, flying like a prisoner in a carrying bag, but if she had been a service dog, she could have sat on my lap for the entire flight. It didn’t seem fair to me, particularly given how small she was, but those were the rules. So I learned something new that night!

The trip to New York went smoothly. Minnie slept for most of it. I even got up the nerve to sneak Minnie out of her bag, since it was dark in the cabin, and she slept on my chest, under a blanket for a while. I loved it, and so did she! My daughters who travel with their dogs had sternly warned me never to take her out of her bag on a flight, or I’d spoil her. What can I tell you? I’m a spoiler. Minnie is well behaved anyway, never cries or barks in her travel bag, and is a perfect traveler. She sleeps during the entire trip, and if I peek in the bag to check on her, she looks at me sleepily as though to say, “What? What do you want?” (She likes her travel bag so much that sometimes she climbs into it at home and goes to sleep. It’s cozy for her.)

We got to the hotel in New York. My daughter had dropped off the playpen she had used at her apartment for Minnie, and
I had brought a small bed for her in the suitcase. Minnie settled right in, and our stay in New York went fine. I had everything with me that she needed. And it was way too cold in New York in November to take her out. So the first and only problem I encountered was dressing her two days later to leave for Paris. I had bought several sweaters for her, and she had hand-me-downs from my daughters’ Chihuahuas, and I had also bought a little padded quilted coat, kind of like a snowsuit for really cold weather. My daughters had informed me that in freezing-cold weather, she needed to wear a sweater
and
the coat. I’ve never had a dog that small, and they are fragile in the cold. I dressed nine babies for the cold and even took them skiing, so I wasn’t going to be daunted by dressing a one-pound baby Chihuahua. I was a pro.

As it turned out, babies are easier to dress in winter clothes than baby Chihuahuas. I packed up all of Minnie’s gear to leave for the airport. I put a blanket in her carrying bag, a Wee-Wee Pad, and a couple of toys. I had food for the trip and two bowls, one each for food and water. I even carried a spare sweater and Baby Wipes in my purse. I got dressed and put the sweater and coat on Minnie and stood her up in the playpen (she was not looking too happy about her outfit). I turned around to put on my coat.

Then I turned around again to pick her up and put her in
the carrying bag—and found Minnie lying on her back with her four legs straight up in the air. Oops. For a minute I thought she was sick, and then realized she had just rolled over. I stood her back up on her feet and watched her roll over and stick her feet up in the air again, like a beetle on its back. By then I noticed that she was glaring at me, and she made it clear. If I was going to put her in those miserable clothes, she was not going to stand up. Every time I stood her up, she rolled over on her back again. The wardrobe issue was not going well. (For a minute, I was reminded of my son Nick at three, when I put him in an adorable one-piece suit with a giraffe on it. He looked at it in horror and said, “You expect me to wear that?” Minnie appeared to feel the same way about her snowsuit, although it was very cute.) And I couldn’t take it off because I didn’t want her to freeze when we left the hotel, and it was bitter cold. I intended to take it off on the plane and not before.

Minnie in Paris for the first time
Alessandro Calderano

Minnie in the Paris apartment kitchen
Alessandro Calderano

I put her in the bag, and she was quiet on the way to the airport. I didn’t peek into the bag and assumed she was okay. And finally at the airport, I took a look, and she was lying flat on her face. Oops again. Another wardrobe crisis. I took a closer look and realized she had slipped both front paws
into
the snowsuit and was balancing on her nose. That’s what I mean about dogs making you laugh. She looked so funny, I
had to chuckle. And we were clearly going to have some issues about her clothes. I took her snowsuit off on the plane and left her sweater on, and she looked relieved.

And once on the Air France flight, I got a taste of the differences between domestic travel and being on a French plane. The French are crazy about dogs. Americans love their dogs too, but they are much more rigid about regulations. On the flight from San Francisco to New York, I had been sternly warned by the most unfriendly flight attendant not to take her out of the bag under any circumstances. They never asked what was in it, if it was a puppy, and were not interested. Rules were rules. On the Air France flight, every single member of the crew who walked past us wanted to know what it was, could they see her, and asked me to open the bag, and then oohed and ahhed over her, wanted to pet her, and a couple of them winked at me and indicated that if I took her out during the flight, they would turn a blind eye, and did I want any treats for her? (No, I didn’t, since she was on a puppy diet.) But it was sweet how friendly they were. And they still are on every Air France flight we take. It’s the same in French restaurants. If you bring a dog, it is normal to set a place at the table for your dog and serve it a meal, which horrifies Americans. French dogs are treated like people!

Minnie slept on the flight, and when we got to the apartment
in Paris, she discovered her second home. I had a playpen waiting for her there, and some supplies. I unpacked her toys, her beds, her blankets, and her bowls. (I’d brought her American puppy food so she didn’t have to change diet. I tried to think of everything.) She scampered around the kitchen and made herself at home. And my housekeeper fell in love with her on the spot. She was so unbelievably cute, and so happy to find her toys when she got there.

And in Paris, she barked for the first time. She had occasionally made tiny squeaking mouse noises but so far had never barked. I discovered rapidly that she hated the fax machine when a fax came in (and the ice maker). Otherwise, she rarely barks. She is as untechnological as I am. I try to restrain myself and generally don’t bark at the fax machine, although I’d like to when my office or attorneys send me thirty-page faxes. Minnie does the barking for me. The fax machine makes her irate. She’s happy and good-natured the rest of the time.

Minnie’s life in Paris is busier, or different, than her life in the States. In New York we stay in a hotel. In San Francisco, where my office is, if I have a busy day, she hangs out in the office in the daytime, and thinks everyone is there to keep her company, and then she comes back to me at the end of the day. That way I don’t have to leave her alone. And in Paris, I
have a huge kitchen, which is centrally located, so I put her there in the daytime, and every time someone comes through the kitchen, she is delighted to see them. Wherever she is, she is thrilled to see people, and they are happy to see her. Everyone exclaims at her tiny size, and she has gotten brave and gregarious, loves to play, and runs all over the place. She seems to be convinced that whoever comes in is there to entertain and visit her. Although in the beginning she was very shy, she no longer is. She loves company!

She has favorite places to hang out, a warm spot on the floor where the heating passes through. I put a small bed for her there, a pink bed next to my desk where my computer is (which I only use for e-mail, not for writing), and I found an adorable red “house,” which is also a bed, that I use to store her toys. She loves the bed on the “hot” spot, and the one next to my desk. When I’m sending e-mails, she comes and lies in it, to be close to me. And her various options keep her busy.

First, she rummages in her heap of toys on the floor and puts several in one of her beds. Then she gets into the bed, plays with the toys for a while, and decides she wants some of them somewhere else. So one by one, she takes them to a different bed, piles them up, gets in, plays again, and then moves some of them to one of the other options. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but there is clearly a method to her madness.
She reorganizes her toys several times a day. And she has favorites among her toys. I carry those in my hand luggage so they don’t get lost. (I know, it sounds silly, but old habits die hard.) And her
very
favorite toy is a little gray mouse she loves to play with and puts in her bed!

Minnie with her toys
Alessandro Calderano