We are standing in line to get through the TSA. It is “o’ dark-thirty” and we are waiting in line to get through a security check point at the Minneapolis International Airport. There are a BAJILLION of us standing and waiting to get though this overcrowded, stuffy, SMELLY line.
A moment later I catch sight of “him.” Coming around the shoulder high panels, looking down. It’s him, the handler for the TSA’s Drug Sniffing K9 Unit or better know as…
… a dog.
For any of you who know us, you know that while I am trying to get my stuff together to go through the inspection area, my wife has a compulsion for these four-legged creatures that borders on the side of obsessive.
I was cool and collective though, ready for this moment. When little “Rosco” appeared with his handler, BOTH wearing MATCHING vests and BADGES, the entire collection of the present females in this large room, all in UNISON, let out a collective “Awwww!”
I went into action. I ever so slightly walked up to my wife and whispered in her ear, “You cannot pet that animal. He has a job to do and you’re on vacation, AND if you do anything but march straight through his examination area … NO PANDORA!
I saw Shannon’s shoulders slump, her head hung low and she shuffled through the inspection point pouting like a kid sent to bed without dinner. We went through the identification process and as we walked to the X-ray area, Shannon says to me, “Happy?! I didn’t pet the cute dog.” The guy behind me whispers: “Man, what’s your secret?”
After 22 years … effective communication.
