Coming Home from Germany in 1970 was challenging for MamaCharlie and me. The Hyborean Wanderer was just over a year old so he barely noticed. We flew out of Rhein-Main and stopped in Iceland, which is where we realized that MamaCharlie's purse, chock full of passports, traveler's checks and orders and ID and everything else, was still at Rhein-Main. We paid a $25.00 entry fee into the USA and settled into the BOQ at Fort Dix while we waited to get the purse sent to us...a kind soul had found it sitting on a chair in the waiting area and turned it in INTACT. The good people at RMAFB arranged to put it into the daily diplomatic pouch. Since there was some delay in the commo, we had to wait a couple of days for it. That wasn't too bad, we had to get to Bayoone and pick up our car, get to JFK and pick up our dog. After getting lost for what seemed like forever in New Jersey, we motored into New York to find the dog.
We had put Golf on a flight that was scheduled to leave before us by a couple hours so we thought he would be at the shipper by the time we got there. He wasn't. The shipper assured us that delays like that were not unusual and our pooch would be fine. We went back to Dix for the night. The next day we called up to the shipper...no word yet. I was getting upset and pressed them to check again...noting that by now the dog was nearing 3 days in that crate. The clerk told me that they only had one live shipment, it was leaving that night for California. Something clicked in my pea brain...I asked where in California. The clerk needed some persuading to reveal the receivers address...but then she read off the Chief's address in El Cajon. I went ballistic. I picked up my copy of the shipping papers and looked. There in the block for destination it said JFK. Right under that in the block that asked for a permanent residence address...was the Chief's...I had always used his address as my "Home of Record". I walked the clerk through this block by block and then down to the special instructions block where it said the owner will pick up the dog at JFK. The clerk suddenly became the most apologetic person on the face of the earth. I told them it would take me about two hours to drive up there and all I wanted from them was my dog. Before I could hang up I was informed, she had just founr out, the dog was at the JFK ASPCA...there was a limit to the amount of time a live animal can stay in a gage in transit before it was considered "abusive"...I guess.
When we arrived at the ASPCA, I was mentally prepared to go to war with whoever brought attitude to my world. I was met instead with some very kind, understanding, and helpful folks. They had hosed Golf off, he had had a rough trip, threw up and diahrea and needed to be cleaned. I had parked in front of the door and had left the car door open... when I started talking to the handler, I heard a yodeling howl start up in the back. Someone went back to let the dog out and he came charging out of the holding area like a streak. He saw the car right outside and didn't even pause to say, "Hi". He charged into the back seat and curled into the tightest ball I had ever seen him accomplish, hunkered down on the backseat floor. HBW was thrilled to see his "Goffiedog"...and got a lick. Golf wouldn't come out of the back seat.
By the time we got back to Dix it was almost 9 pm. We had Mama's purse...we had our car...and finally had our dog. We figured we had had enough of New Jersey, we check out of the Q and left right then for California. We didn't stop until we were clear of Jersey. We spent the night in Wilmington, Delaware...Golf spent the night in the back seat.