This geology widow has once again made a trek to the airport to pick up the absentee hubby. This work separation was longer than most. I can handle two to three months without too much hardship, but 3 ½ and I’m crying the blues, with four pups chiming in as back-up singers. They know. They feel the loss. They understand daddy goes to this big place that reeks of jet fuel and disappears into a big black hole…..Alberta.
Time goes by and they listen on the phone as daddy asks if they’re being good little boys and girls, their ears perk when they hear his voice, but when I say “Daddy’s coming home!” they pretty much lose their minds. I made the mistake once and told Honey, the oldest and more experienced with his comings and goings, that I was going to the airport for daddy. She was whimpering as I walked out the door. Cute I thought. I made it down the driveway when I realized I had forgotten my phone so I backed up, got out of the car and heard mournful sounds emanating through the thick walls. Honey’s cries sounded like a wolf baying at the moon, pathetic and heart wrenching. I peeked in the window and there she was on the sofa, nose in the air crying out her woes for her lost daddy. If I hadn't gone back she might have carried on until we returned. I stayed until she calmed and then lied to her, said I was going to the Save Easy for chicken. Chicken being the holy grail to snap her out of thinking about daddy. That’s the last time I announced a trip to the airport and just bring daddy home with a big “surprise” as we come through the door.
There are times when I take them with me, although I usually live to regret it. They start whining when I hit the Hammond Plains turnoff, knowing the destination from all the smells. Imagine, four dog’s high pitched whining piercing your ears. It could send the most tolerant over a cliff or into the ditch!
New regulations don’t allow dogs in the airport so we usually wait at Tim Horton’s parking lot and hubby phones after he secures his luggage. We pull up to the arrival area like a limo service and he hops in the car. No waiting or no parking fees to contend with, and I can arrive later for the pick-up than to be there when he comes through the arrival doors. Always being on the late side, it’s a win win.
Imagine all four pups, primed out of their ever loving minds for excitement, dive bombing daddy in the passenger seat. Their tongues all licking him like he’s going though a spit car wash. His hands are over his mouth to ward off their probing tongues, ensuring the only one in there is his own. Our girl Fiz can slip her tongue past your lips so slickly, one has to worry that one of these days we'll bite it off as we speak. She's a French poodle, only makes sense she's a pro at French kissing but gross even if you love her!
So this kissing, licking, whining, jumping frenzy goes on for about five minutes before they run out of steam and begin to settle down. Only then is hubby able to part the bodies and glance my way to see the lonely, long suffering wife, taking the backseat even though she's sitting in the front…...
Time goes by and they listen on the phone as daddy asks if they’re being good little boys and girls, their ears perk when they hear his voice, but when I say “Daddy’s coming home!” they pretty much lose their minds. I made the mistake once and told Honey, the oldest and more experienced with his comings and goings, that I was going to the airport for daddy. She was whimpering as I walked out the door. Cute I thought. I made it down the driveway when I realized I had forgotten my phone so I backed up, got out of the car and heard mournful sounds emanating through the thick walls. Honey’s cries sounded like a wolf baying at the moon, pathetic and heart wrenching. I peeked in the window and there she was on the sofa, nose in the air crying out her woes for her lost daddy. If I hadn't gone back she might have carried on until we returned. I stayed until she calmed and then lied to her, said I was going to the Save Easy for chicken. Chicken being the holy grail to snap her out of thinking about daddy. That’s the last time I announced a trip to the airport and just bring daddy home with a big “surprise” as we come through the door.
There are times when I take them with me, although I usually live to regret it. They start whining when I hit the Hammond Plains turnoff, knowing the destination from all the smells. Imagine, four dog’s high pitched whining piercing your ears. It could send the most tolerant over a cliff or into the ditch!
New regulations don’t allow dogs in the airport so we usually wait at Tim Horton’s parking lot and hubby phones after he secures his luggage. We pull up to the arrival area like a limo service and he hops in the car. No waiting or no parking fees to contend with, and I can arrive later for the pick-up than to be there when he comes through the arrival doors. Always being on the late side, it’s a win win.
Imagine all four pups, primed out of their ever loving minds for excitement, dive bombing daddy in the passenger seat. Their tongues all licking him like he’s going though a spit car wash. His hands are over his mouth to ward off their probing tongues, ensuring the only one in there is his own. Our girl Fiz can slip her tongue past your lips so slickly, one has to worry that one of these days we'll bite it off as we speak. She's a French poodle, only makes sense she's a pro at French kissing but gross even if you love her!
So this kissing, licking, whining, jumping frenzy goes on for about five minutes before they run out of steam and begin to settle down. Only then is hubby able to part the bodies and glance my way to see the lonely, long suffering wife, taking the backseat even though she's sitting in the front…...
The "I Miss My Daddy Quartette"
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