Taking a Piper to the airport is a bit like bringing along a frisky cat. She darts under luggage racks and refuses to yield the aisle, even when a traveler is coming straight at her with rolling bags twice her size. She must touch and sometimes lick every germy surface. There’s so much open space in which to skip and frolic and cool moving escalators and belts. Makes me wish I had a kiddie leash. No judging here.
Even a trip to the bathroom is an adventure. While waiting in a long line in the ladies room, I bent down to check for shoes under the stalls.
“Mom,” Piper said, “I don’t think you’re supposed to look under there at the people. That’s what you always say.” I tried to explain that I was just assessing occupancy, but P had already moved on to her next observation. “Look! Somebody thinks their luggage needs to go potty, too!”