And that's a wrap!

Some times it's just easy.

I put as much of my life as possible in four bags without them being obnoxiously overweight. I mailed a package that cost more than its contents, but there was no line and the people at the post office were unusually friendly. I had breakfast with a  dear friend who then helped me set up Tequila's cage. 

The real question was how to get these two large bags, giant bag and excited dog to the airport. I had dreamed up this complicated plan of getting a taxi for the stuff and taking that to the airport, while either my friend or I takes the RER with Tequila and we rendezvous somewhere within the monstrous maze of Charles de Gaulle-Roissy. Then my friend said, "Why don't you just take everything in the cab?"

"Well," I responded, thinking of drunken adventures with Tequila in Boston, "no cab will take a dog."

"Catherine, it's Paris."

So I pulled out my laptop, searched "dog" "taxi" "paris" and discovered Dog Taxi in Paris. Suddenly everything from pooch to carry ons were loaded into a van and we were off to the airport.

At CDG, there was a cart mysteriously waiting by the parking spot the taxi took. The driver, with whom I bonded over our brief journey, loaded cage and luggage onto the cart. With Tequila by my side, I marched into the airport.

The woman at check-in proclaimed herself the dog expert, having checked-in two smaller pups earlier. We chatted about her life, my adventures, our respective trips to Mauritius and elsewhere. Within minutes we were BFFs. When my bags proved to be overweight, she ignored the extra kilos. When she looked at the weights and fares for dogs, she frowned and pretended Tequila too was a small dog. "It will only take 45 minutes to put the dog on the plane, so come back at 12:15. Otherwise, you two are free to walk around!"

And thus we did. I met Tequila's co-passanger, a boxer whose owner is an interior designer splitting his time between Boston and Paris. I had a delicious lunch with a man who was wearing a Red Sox baseball cap.

"It is baseball season," I thought with a smile. I could almost smell the peanuts and beer of Fenway; I could see the perfectly tamed florescent green grass contrasting the neatly trimmed mud red diamond within. I imagined running my fingers over the baseball's stitches. "How are the boys doing?" 

When it was time to board the ship, I dropped Tequila off as arranged and found my window seat. I didn't have to worry whether Tequila made it or not; her barks echoed through the near empty aisles. (Ok, so there were several minutes of tension as I wondered if she'd cry for six straight hours, but the good girl that she is settled quietly quickly.) I befriended the cute attendant with glowing blue eyes, sprawled out across three seats, and watched Paris disappear beneath me. 

Next?

Last but not least, arrival proved surprisingly easy as well. Tequila started barking as we were landing, so I knew she survived the trip in fine form. The bags came quickly. The customs agents didn't bother me because I had an obnoxiously loud animal in a cage with me. And upon exiting, I discovered my family waiting with Dunkin Donuts iced coffee and reservations for the better burger joint in America. 

Welcome back.