A few weeks ago, I blogged about how I was going to be brave and take Frankie with me to New York if the invitation that a friend had extended a few months earlier to stay in her place worked out.
Frankie and the Co-op Board
There were the expensive rugs that my friend was worried about. There was the fact that she and her partner came down from upstate New York on some weekends — something I didn’t realize — and it would be crowded for the four of us (even though one of us is very small) in a studio apartment.
And there was the co-op board approval.
As anyone in New York whose building goes co-op knows, you pay a lot of money to own a co-op apartment in the city, but you don’t have the final say about what you do with it. The co-op board does. So after five years of subletting my Manhattan apartment — to someone that the board had to approve, naturally — I was given an ultimatum: Move back for two years to re-establish residency or sell it. By this time I had a house in Tucson and couldn’t afford to return, so I had to sell.
I still can’t walk past my old building. It’s too painful.
So I hate co-op boards, and didn’t want to subject Frankie to the indignity of having to pass their review.
I imagined the questions:
- Can you guarantee you will never do your business within a 10-foot perimeter of the building?
- Are you a barker?
- A humper?
Frankie could only guarantee that he has never humped any humans, but there is photographic evidence of his attempts at doggie dominance in the privacy of his own home. The pee perimeter? If you gotta go, you gotta go, is his attitude. As for barking, he could not swear that there would not be many things in New York that he needed to protect me from. And, being small, speaking loudly is his only recourse.
So New York was out.
But you know what they say about things working out for the best. I’m not generally that optimistic, but in this case it was true.
Off to San Diego
Just about the time that the New York trip was falling apart, I got an assignment for a very nice publication to write about San Diego. I’ve been to San Diego with Frankie several times before — see here and here — and know that he likes being there but I’ve always driven.
This time I decide to fly.
For one thing, the flight is short — only an hour, direct on Southwest from Tucson — so Frankie might prefer this form of transportation to the loathed seven-hour drive. For another, gas is expensive and flights to San Diego are reasonable, so when you factor in the travel time saved, it almost evens out. I say almost because Frankie is a freeloader in the car, whereas on Southwest he has to pay $75 each way.
Most important, I think that if you are writing a book on pet travel, your pet should try different modes of travel. So I’ll go into the different aspects of preparing for our flight, now that I’m becoming intimately involved with them.