It was our normal Wednesday night airport run, but summer travel must officially be over because the place was practically a ghost town. We kept looking around thinking, “Hello? Anyone? Did we show up after closing?” Even Holly seemed confused, like she was expecting her usual fan club to pop out from behind the ticket counters. Instead… nothing. Just us, a few scattered travelers, and the sound of Holly’s tail thumping like she was trying to summon people from thin air.
A Little Paw-Mail from Holly!
After that, I made my rounds to all the airline reservationists. They’re always super nice to me, probably because I’m basically an honorary employee at this point. I have flight crew wings from every airline — I’m one badge away from needing my own break room. I trot up to their counters like, “Hello, it’s me, your large‑boned coworker,” and they treat me like I’m checking in for a very important dog‑mission. Honestly, I might be running this airport and it’s just no one has told me yet.
Then I went to see my friends in blue and the military recruits. I showed up just in time for taste‑testing, which is obviously the most important part of my job. Peanut butter won tonight — I voted with great enthusiasm. She makes the best cookies and brownies, and the recruits get giant homemade goodies before heading off to boot camp.
And when I say giant, I mean big‑girl‑sized cookies. She knows her audience. You can’t hand a 145‑pound fluffy marshmallow like me a tiny cookie. I’d lose it in my fur.
I consider this whole operation my patriotic duty: supporting the troops one peanut‑butter taste test at a time.
We headed out to the gates… and the concourse was EMPTY. I mean “did my humans bring me on the wrong day?” empty. It felt like someone forgot to invite the passengers to the airport. I kept looking around like, “Hello? Anybody? Did OKC close early and no one told me?”
But summer travel is over and all the kids are back in school, so I guess everyone traded their suitcases for backpacks. Still, it was so quiet I could practically hear my own tail wagging.
Good thing I got to taste‑test cookies earlier, because even Starbucks was closed. Closed! The betrayal.
We headed out to the gates… I kept trotting along like a giant furry detective, looking for clues, passengers, anybody. I did spot a few friendly faces sprinkled around, but then — jackpot — I recognized two very special friends.
My tail started wagging so hard I nearly achieved lift‑off when I spotted two very special friends. I’d met them before at Jason’s Deli, and guess what — they remembered me! Obviously, I’m famous. They were headed to Chicago, which made me feel extra important because I’ve been there too… I just didn’t fly. My humans’ daughter and son‑in‑law live there, and let me tell you, Chicago is lovely and not 107 degrees like it was here today. If my human didn’t put Street Paws wax on my feet, I’d have had roasted toes. And let’s be honest — my human cannot carry a 145‑pound fluffy marshmallow like me the way they carry my 4‑pound Yorkie friend Darbie. They’d need a wheelbarrow. Or a forklift. Possibly a construction crew.
On the way back to the parking garage, my human tried again to get me to use my nose to push the elevator buttons. My NOSE. I generally do what I’m told — I’m a very responsible fluffy citizen — but come on. That is my nose. My treat‑detecting, cookie‑sniffing, peanut‑butter‑voting nose. And those elevator buttons? I just know they’re covered in airport germs, traveler germs, mystery germs, probably even “I‑forgot‑to-wash-my-hands” germs.
They do not taste like treats or ice cream, so absolutely not. I refuse. My nose has standards.
I’ll be glad to get home and flop on the cold kitchen floor like a giant furry pancake. It’s been a long night for a big girl like me.
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