Bless my sweet husband's heart for coming with me to the airport and helping me deal with getting Oskar on the plane. To get your pet out of Korea, you have to not only have a health certificate from an American vet but also from a Korean vet. Why? I have no idea. Anyways, the whole process of getting the Korean health certificate was pretty painless, save for the fact that the place was crawling with nervous, stressed out barking dogs and Koreans who kept shoving their faces right up to Oskar's kennel. Luckily, it only took about 10 minutes for me to fill out the paperwork and fork over the 10,000 necessary for this mandatory "service." We could not get Oskar out of that place soon enough.
Then it was off to the counter where even more Koreans kept sticking their faces next to his kennel. For a dog that was already at his maximum stress level AND who hates Koreans, this was too much. The poor guy kept barking and scaring the Korean Air lady half to death. I was so worried she was going to say he was too aggressive to travel. I was just going to have to tell her that he was not aggressive, just racist. Anyways, after what seemed like an endless amount of paperwork and many, many things lost in translation, a gentleman came to pick up Oskar and, before I could even say good-bye, he was gone. Again, so lucky Jonathan was there because he was the only thing that kept me from bursting into tears when I turned around and realized Oskar was no longer sitting next to me.
Every other time we have flown with Oskar, I have been given a ticket that corresponds with a ticket on his kennel. After he is loaded onto the plane, a flight attendant will come and hand me the ticket from his kennel confirming that he was on board. No such luck with Korean Air. So, after a tearful good-bye with my husband (and his constant reminders of "stay calm, stay calm, stay calm"), I went through security and straight to my gate. I watched out the window for almost 2 hours, wanting to see for myself that my precious little wiener dog was being loaded on the same plane I was getting on. No Oskar in sight. They called for people to start boarding; still no Oskar. Final boarding call: STILL no Oskar. I had no choice but to get on the plane and grab the first flight attendant I saw. Holding back tears (yes, I'm pregnant and emotional), I told her that I had a dog that was supposed to be on board and could she please, please, please go check to make sure he was on the plane. I must have looked pathetic because she went straight to the phone and confirmed there was one little wiener dog all loaded up. Breathing a sigh of relief, I settled in for my 13 hour flight.
Now, I am not a good flier. It's not that I'm absolutely terrified of it (although I wouldn't say I'm completely at ease either); I simply do not enjoy the sensations of air travel. The ups and downs of turbulence, the changes in altitude, the slowing down and speeding up of the plane: I feel it all. . . and I usually get nauseous. So, needless to say, I was a little more than apprehensive about flying while 6 months pregnant. The flight was refreshingly turbulence free, and I thought maybe I was in the clear with air sickness . . . . until they brought out the meals. Now, I was not a seafood fan before I got pregnant; now that I am pregnant, the very mention of it makes me want to vomit. Why oh why was so surprised that Korean Air only wanted to serve me seafood during a 13 hour flight home? Stir-fried octopus? No thank you. Seafood medley? Absolutely not. Even the "snacks" they brought around between meals were fish flavored: tuna crackers or shrimp chips. For 13 hours, I lived on two rolls, a bag of peanuts, and a small salad. Baby W. was NOT a happy camper. That flight was the most active I have ever felt him be, and I'm pretty sure he was trying to punch and kick me into food submission. I kept trying to explain to him that he wouldn't like what food I had available, but I had to stop when I noticed the other passengers staring at me as I argued with my belly. Anyways, praise the Lord I had my anti-nausea medicine with me or else the other passengers would have had more the deal with that a crazy lady talking to her own body.
Finally, after 13 hours and a bit of a rough landing, we arrived in Chicago. . . and I was reunited with my frazzled pooch. Oskar was absolutely D-O-N-E with traveling by this point, and he let EVERYONE at the airport know it. He barked at the poor guy who had to check all his certificates before letting him through customs. He barked at all the people who wanted to "ooh" and "aah" at him while walking through the airport. He flat-out barked at anyone who got too close to his kennel period, which made standing at baggage claim extremely difficult. I had to stand back and watch for my bag at a distance, making sure to keep myself between Oskar and any other innocent passerby who might mistake my dog for a vicious Rottweiler instead of a stressed out wiener dog. Several times I thought I saw my bag come around the conveyor belt, but any time I took two steps away from Oskar's kennel, he went ballistic. I ended up having to wait until the place was almost emptying before venturing over to grab my bag.
Short story long, I have never been so happy to walk out that gate and see my in-laws. . . and the muffins they had waiting for me in the car. It was a long, stressful day, but we made it safely and, by the grace of God, compared to everything that could have gone wrong, nothing did. Plus, I have the comfort of knowing that I will never have to fly Oskar again (if I can help it). . . and hopefully I will never been stuck in another tight space with the smell of seafood being my only companion for 13 hours.
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