Travels with My Condensed Canine

You read the abbreviated life of Kiner, the first Uncool Canine, in my previous post. What up now, dog?

Since his early demise two years ago, my ex-Lab has resided in a twist-tied plastic bag, neatly squeezed into a rectangular metal canister decorated with colorful flora. This is how the pet cremation place presented him to me. I see ads for this operation on the place mats in all the local diners. They deserve a cool slogan: "Your beloved pet -- now and forever in a shed-free powder!"

The canister sits tucked upon a high bookshelf in our family room. Kiner was an all-indoor dog, after all. But it still seemed weird … and risky. I keep imaging the kids -- jonesing for a sugar fix -- climbing up there, looking for candy-filled plastic eggs they might have missed last Easter. Then, poof! All over my collection of "The Complete Peanuts."

Attempts to find Kiner a nice spot in the backyard had been thwarted by our never-ending landscaping work. After his last seven months of suffering, I wouldn't want him scooped up and hauled out for highway fill or a bird bath put over him so he could be splat upon all day. And, I'm not talking water.

The right opportunity finally presented itself in a business meeting My Love needed to attend back in Texas. Kiner spent the first six years of his life in the Dallas suburbs. At least a part of him should be back at his first real home. Road trip!

This journey was on our family's calendar for six months. Naturally, I failed to prepare my passed-on pup until the car service to take us to the airport pulled into the driveway.

Ford Frick! How does one get concentrated canine past security?

Plastic bag? That's just begging for a cavity search by a TSA officer … with an itchy trigger finger … and the name of Omar Guido Bruno "The Painmaker" Kapowski.

From the closet, I dug out Thing 1's various prescriptions and combined two bottles of cyclosporine pills into one. Kiner never flew while alive, but today he would ride in a childproof-capped kennel wedged between my cargo shorts and sweat socks.

In my checked luggage, perv, my checked luggage.

For your future reference, if you ever need to transfer a dog's ashes from a quart-sized baggie into a salt-shaker sized pill bottle, lay some newspaper down first. Little bits of my previous pet are now embedded in the chalking of my kitchen counters and trapped in the gunk in my garbage disposal. Sorry, buddy.

Also, if you stop by my place for a bowl of ice cream or some fine Quaker cereals, you may want to bring your own utensils. Otherwise, it's the home-version of Russian roulette as you'll never be sure if your spoon was the one used to scoop granulated puppy.

Tune in later for the conclusion of our tale.

Meanwhile, give Kiner your love by visiting Humor-Blogs.com, registering, and giving this a big ol' smiley face.