The Reluctant Aviator

We pilots like to believe that our loved ones cherish every hour of flight as much as we do. On occasion, we are forced to face the hard truth. The flying bug just doesn't bite everyone. I was heartbroken when Shorty, my little mutt, was less than thrilled at riding in the back seat of my old Aeronca Sedan.

Shorty became a member of the family when I rescued him from the Humane Society. My husband was working as a volunteer at the Humane Society, and asked if I would come take a look at a cute little dog. He was a small Heinz-57 variety, long of body, short of leg, with curly tail, butterscotch and white short coat, dainty flopped ears, bug eyes, and a serious underbite. He was in a cage with a passel of puppies, who all ran toward me as I approached. Shorty backed up to the wire in front of me, and snarled at the little tykes as if to say, "Back off, you miserable curs. This one's MINE!" After the puppies retreated, he turned around, and with melting big brown eyes, stole my heart.

He was a challenge. We found out that he had been abused before being delivered to the Humane Society, and we were soon able to put together a pretty good description of the probable abuser. Shorty hated tall men wearing cowboy boots and hats, and was afraid of any implements with long handles, like brooms, shovels, or hoes. It took almost five years of loving care and re-socialization before we could take him for a walk among strangers without seeing him become a quivering wreck. He got a kick out of riding in the car, looking through the windows at the countryside passing by. I had begun flying by then, and decided that he would just love going for an airplane ride.

I put on his little red harness (he couldn't wear a regular collar because his head was smaller than his neck, and he would slip right out of it), attached a leash, and tied him so that he couldn't jump from the back seat to the front where he might interfere with the aircraft's controls. He wasn't too pleased when the engine started, as it makes a lot more noise than an automobile engine, but he didn't look too nervous. He could just see out the side window, and he watched as we taxied out to the runway to complete our pre-takeoff checklist. So far, so good. I lined up on the centerline, added power, and soon the Sedan left the runway, climbing at its usual sedate pace. Shorty's eyes opened very wide, and he looked down at the floorboards, thinking, I'm sure, "Where did the ground go?"

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