Sick in Transit Gloria

That, above, is one for the Latin freaks. You all know who you are. In your togas, mumbling about the Ides of March.

Twenty six hours in a crate in the bowels of a Thai Airlines Jumbo. I've spent better twenty-six hour slabs of my life.

So has Barbra.

So traumatised was she that she burst into a Gloria Estafan medley.

I threw up.

And there was my Kodak Box Brownie.

Next stop:

Fear and Loathing in the Bowels of a Thai Airlines Jumbo

Yeah yeah, I can do Hunter S. Thompson. I can outdo Hunter S. Thompson. Without chemical aids. Unless you call a brisket bone a chemical aid. I don't. I call a brisket bone breakfast. And any other meal you care to name.

So where was I? The two-legged dogs dumped io and Barbra - there's a bit of Italian for you; even though I'm not there yet (blogwise, so to speak), the two-legged dogs in the house had been prattling to me in Italian and I'm not as stupidotto as I look (there I go again) - in our usual boarding kennel.

Suck on that last paragraph, Hunter S.

Anyway, there we were at the kennel. For, we assumed, the usual couple of days.

Nuh. The usual couple of days stretched to a week.

One week later, it was two weeks.

M-hm.

Then, one day, sure enough, the kennel girls came for us with our leashes. Here we go, we thought. The two-legged dogs have indulged themselves long enough, they've had a twinge of guilt over leaving us locked up at Doggy San Quentin. We're going home.

We thought.

Nuh. We were loaded into the back of a strange van.

You should have seen the look on Barbra's face. Luckily, I had my Kodak Box Brownie with me:

Pity I didn't realise I had my oversized paw over the lens.

Be that as it may, the van took us to - of all places - the Sydney Veterinary Hospital. What the - ?

There, a vet poked and prodded us, wrote down a lot of stuff, and sent us to bed. Bed? A cage. I say again, What the - ?

Next morning, we were loaded into crates. One crate each. Barbra in hers, me in mine. I say yet again, What the - ?

We - in our crates - were loaded into another van.

Next time I opened my eyes, what did I see?

This time I remembered to get my oversized paw out of the way. I'm no dill. Even if the end result is wonky because my oversized paws were all atremble.

What were we doing at Sydney Airport?

More importantly, what in the name of brisket bones were we doing being wheeled - in our crates - towards one of these things?

If my oversized paws were all atremble before, they were all aquiver now.

Next thing we knew, we were being loaded - in our crates - into the bowels of a Thai Airlines Jumbo. I'd like to have been able to post a photograph of the inside of the bowels of a Thai Airlines Jumbo.

But I'd eaten the Kodak Box Brownie.

Fear and loathing can do that to an oversized buffoon.