De Plane! De Plane!

There’s a love/hate relationship with airplanes in our household. Some of us love to hate them.

Husband grew up as an Army brat, thus was flying all over the world from the time he was literally only weeks old. He also joined the Marine Corps after High School and served our country four years, so he flew a lot. He hates airplanes. He hates to fly. Going on a trip that requires air travel is miserable - for him and for me; and anyone who’s unfortunate enough to have to sit beside us. I believe the last time we flew together I threatened to knock him out. I wasn’t joking.

Statistics tell us that air travel is the safest way to go. On average, more people are killed by donkeys every year than by airplane crashes. It’s a fact people, look it up. The rate of car accidents is such that everyone has an average of three in their lifetime. Husband’s theory is that he’s already been in his three car wrecks; he’s never around any donkeys; it must be time for him to die in an airplane crash. Each and every plane he gets on, he insists is going to fall out of the sky in a huge blazing ball of fire. And with an airplane crash, there are rarely any survivors (except for on TV). Each and every time we get on an airplane, I’m reminded of this apparent fact. Why no one else can see it is beyond his imagination.

I flew for the first time when I was in college. It was a nice little trip from tiny little Drake Field to Tampa, including a flight change at DFW. I was traveling with Husband, who was Boyfriend at that time, and we were going to see some friends who soon after that trip became Boss and Boss’s Wife. I had no idea what I was doing, but being raised to be independent and observant, I was sure I would do just fine. Husband/Boyfriend walked me through everything and was amazingly able to keep his hatred of flying from coming to the forefront of our conversations. I found that I don’t mind flying; Actually, I sort of like it. And yes, my favorite parts are takeoffs and landings – the two most “dangerous” and Husbands most loathed times. I like to live on the wild side.

Argus is the other member of our household who hates planes. No, I’ve never taken my dog on a plane, so let’s not go there. We all know he’s the overprotective one at our house, and he cannot tolerate anything violating his airspace…birds, bugs, kites, gliders, airplanes…you get the picture. He runs around the yard, barking at and chasing whatever unauthorized flying thing happens to be in his no-fly-zone. The best part is that we now live within the flight line of a small, local airport. You know – the type of airport that handles small consumer traffic and a few corporate jets. Needless to say, this drives Argus up the wall. There are constantly planes flying over and around our house. It doesn’t bother us – you sort of get used to it and it’s no big deal.

Argus, however, will run himself silly on a busy day. Say, like when the local University is having a big football game. And it’s getting to be that time of year again. It’s not all bad – he gets great exercise. And he quits barking as soon as the airspace violator is out of sight. So I don’t think he really bothers anyone. What’s more annoying, a plane flying over your house, or the dog who is barking at the plane that is flying over your house? They’re about equal, I guess.

So that pretty much describes the relationship our household has with planes. I’m just waiting for husband to come up with some theory that involves a plane crashing on top of our house in a huge, blazing ball of fire. I’ll keep you updated.