Oh my, where to begin. I had been working hard to save up money so my English citizen husband and I could relocate to the UK. I managed to get a ghost-writing project that paid me very well, more than I expected, as they gave me a bonus. Anyway, he wasn't doing anything to help us get extra, so I wasn't entirely convinced he wanted to go home. As things happen, (not going to get political here), but when November came around, and certain events happened, husband had said, if so-and-so gets in, we're leaving. So I was on a film shoot as script supervisor when I found that the election was confirmed, I texted my husband and said 'start packing to go home'. Then came the questions, with what money, how, where, etc. I told him and yet he still didn't help to pack or sell anything or even start cleaning up and such.
It was a long month that went by quicker than it felt. We were still working, but when we got home from work, he would go on the computer and I was the one left doing the sorting and packing and delivering canned goods to shelters. The only good thing was he delivered the furniture to the charity shops, they made out like bandits.We had to leave a lot for the trash men. We sold what we could, gave away a lot, then turned in our vehicles to the dealer, got a rental van, packed it and drove fourteen hours to Cape Cod, Massachusetts where my bestie lived. Once the van was packed, there was literally only room for us and the two dogs. Thus started the stress, we drove straight through, bestie got us a hotel room for the two nights we were supposed to be there and then drop stuff off at hers.
The next morning we went and dropped stuff at her garage, the boxes that she graciously said she'd ship over to us. Then we sorted out the van, made a larger spot for the dogs to sit in. We were all set to return the car at the airport and jump on the plane. We picked up food for meals, then took showers and baths when we got back to the hotel and slept anxiously. The dogs felt it and barely settled down before it was time to get up.
The morning of the flight, we got a phone call from Heathrow Animal Reception Centre in London telling us we weren't allowed to come. Turns out the vet had messed up the dates on the paperwork for the International Health Certificates for the dogs. Our hearts sunk, I had a panic attack and hubby started spouting off like it was my fault.
Once I calmed myself down by walking with the dogs outside, I formulated a plan to have the dogs revaccinated for rabies by a vet that would do the IHCs properly. Once back inside the hotel room, I got my laptop out and started making calls and emails to local vets. Turned out there was one vet, about thirty minutes away that was a USDA vet and would do the vaccinations and the paperwork. They saw us that evening, so the dogs were vaccinated, so we had to wait out the twenty-one days for the next flight and wait until two days before the flight for the dewormer, then go.
Everything was going ok, we had enough for the hotel, though it would be rough. Hubby and I had more than one argument a day, and he kept blaming me for the issues, when he knew full well that because of the covid pandemic, I wasn't able to go in and see the paperwork before it was sent off. But this time, the vet brought the paperwork out to me to check over, I checked everything thoroughly, all the dates, names and addresses were correct. The vet sent over the paperwork to Heathrow that evening and I got confirmation from HARC via email. Then the countdown was on. We had to turn in the rental car and my bestie allowed us to use one of her cars, just in case we needed something and to get the dogs sorted.
The dogs knew something was up as we had never stayed in a hotel before with them, it wasn't good on their system, my body was having a majorly hard time settling and I lost so much weight none of my clothes were fitting properly. The dogs and I spent more time out walking than we did in the hotel room. I was sure I was hitting ten thousand steps per day, that coupled with the small amounts I was eating due to stomach upset, it wasn't exactly healthy.
The day of the deworming came, that went fine, I checked the phone application for the airlines and it came up and said the flight was canceled. I called them immediately and they got us onto a flight from Boston to Chicago to London, which made no sense at all, but it had to be done. I had even received a call from O'Hare's British Airways ticket desk to ensure everything was sorted out for us, they even asked the dogs' names.
The day of the flight came, we sorted everything out with the hotel, the rental car, got to the airport and American Airlines told us that we couldn't go on a connecting flight with ESAs in the cabin (why, I have no clue), but then they told us that the British Airways flight was not canceled. The British Airways ticket counter was about (it felt like) a mile away, that day I definitely did twelve thousand steps. We had six large suitcases, my satchel, his backpack and carry on and the dogs. We had the luggage on trolleys and with each of us taking a dog, traversed up the ramps, up and down elevators and around corners with the dogs helping us to pull the trolleys like sled dogs. Everyone who saw it was looking around for the cameras to see if we were making a comedy movie. This actually helped to wear them out to sleep on the flight.
Once to the British Airways ticket counter, they hadn't opened yet, so we sat, well, he sat, I walked with the dogs outside so they could sniff and do their business. The tension and negativity between us two humans was so thick you would have had to use a diamond-tipped saw blade to get through it. When the ticket counter finally opened, we got up there first and the agent, who was also English, saw the notes in our file and was more than willing to help us get across the pond. He had to go make a few phone calls, while the four of us were there at the counter. The dogs laid down on the cool floor and relaxed finally, and hubby and I just stood there waiting. It turned out others had gotten the notification that the flight was canceled as well.
After about fifteen minutes of waiting, our agent came back and said it was all sorted. They even managed to check in our bags, but only charged us for half of them, which was so appreciated. We went to the security station, took off our shoes and all metal, put our things into the bins, then took the harnesses, collars and backpacks off the dogs, sent them through the detector and picked them up on the other side where they were licking the security personnel to death. We put the harnesses back on the dogs and went to find the boarding area. My Aussie wasn't exactly happy when he saw another dog, but to be fair, the dog said something to him first. The Border collie was cool as a cucumber and nothing phased her.
Everything went smoothly after that, we got expedited onto the plane before anyone else, got our dogs settled, then ourselves. After my Aussie looked out the window when we started to take off, he laid down and went to sleep.
That was also the last British Airways flight that ESAs would be allowed on, as they were stopping it due to so many fake ESAs being taken on planes and causing issues. Along with that, so many people with ESAs were not following the rules to keep the dogs off the seats. We are now settled in England and things are a lot less stressful and relaxed.
On to the next adventure of taking the train from Barnsley, England to Annan, Scotland with the dogs because they are in the Scottish mystery-drama tv series that I'm creating and writing.