Excuse Me, Your Dog Is in My Seat

How did Fido land in first class? One frequent flyer barks back.

- BY ANDREW ZUCKER

As a middle-seat passenger on a recent flight from Los Angeles to New York, I thought I had hit the jackpot: The aisle seat next to me appeared to be empty. But then, as the last passengers trickled onto the plane, I discovered that the seat would be filled by not only a passenger but also her dog. And I hate dogs.

Yes, you read that correctly. But before you decide I'm a psychopath—and I very well may be, but mostly for other reasons—I had a traumatic experience with a dog when I was a Kid. Consequently, for most of my childhood I would cross to the other side of the street when I saw one. Playdates? It was like the Secret Service sweeping a restaurant ahead of a presidential visit; my mother made sure your pooch was whisked away before I arrived.

These days I've overcome my fear, but that ill will lingers. Dogs bark, they demand constant attention, they bring outside germs indoors. Frankly, I don't see many benefits. For the most part I can live and let live alongside man's supposed best friend, but I must draw the line at dogs on planes.

Before you begin writing an angry letter, let me state that service animals—real service animals—are small miracles that allow people with everything from seizure disorders to diabetes to acute PTSD to travel. I admire these creatures and welcome them to sit next to me with, if not open arms, then respectful admiration. These service animals deserve medals, or at least treats, for what they do. It is the less scrupulous four-legged fraudsters I cannot abide, the ones whose owners purchase phony service vests online or work with quack doctors to gin up the necessary paperwork.