Originally Published in Time Out Istanbul magazine, 2003
Moving to a new country can raise many questions, but I had only one: if my dog gets run over by a plane, do I get a free ticket home?
By Aubree Galvin Caunter
I had been in Istanbul a total of 30 minutes when I learned that my dog was loose on the runway. Having just landed at Atatürk International Airport after a marathon 24-hour travel day, the occasion marked the first time we would set foot in the country where we would be living for the next four years.
Now, let it be said: I am not the most calm of doggie moms to begin with. We don’t have any children yet, so Duncan is more like a child than a pet. He’s positively spoiled rotten with toys and treats, but he’s a good, well-trained dog and everybody that meets him, loves him (or at least that’s what they tell me).
So, when it came time for my husband and me to move to Istanbul six weeks ago, it was with the utmost care that we prepared Duncan for the big trip. He did not need to be quarantined at either end, but flight travel itself can be hard on dogs and especially hard on overly anxious owners.
I’d been hysterical in Chicago when I’d finally been forced to give up the dog at the oversized baggage window and I was still crying when we took off, badgering the flight attendant and making her to swear that he’d be alright. I’d been a bit more calm in Frankfurt but spent the majority of the boarding period with my face pressed up against the window trying to catch a glimpse of Duncan’s travel crate.
By the time we landed safely in Turkey, I figured we were home free. Aye, but there’s the rub.
When we got off the plane, no dog. When we walked through passport control, no dog. When we claimed our baggage, no dog. All along we were being reassured that he was “coming up just now.”
Until then everything had gone as smoothly as possible considering we’d moved our whole selves and dog to a new country. The wheels hadn’t fallen off the car from Cleveland to Chicago. The plane had taken off on time from Chicago to Frankfurt. We caught our connecting flight in Frankfurt with 30 minutes to spare and we were in Istanbul a whole 10 minutes early.
Contrary to my pessimist nature, I had been looking for things to keep going right. So, when the man on the scooter (honest, a scooter) rolled up to us, smiling from ear to ear, I figured he was a part of some quirky welcoming committee. He said something to me, then giggled.
“What did he say,” I asked our Turkish friend.
“He said your dog is running around outside,” my friend answered.
I had a big laugh and punched my husband in the arm to show what a good sport I was. This must be some kind of welcome-to-Istanbul practical joke: tell the new people that their dog has escaped and is in mortal danger of being sucked into a jet engine and turned into runway mulch. Ha ha.
But each time we asked if he was telling the truth, and each time he answered yes, we came closer to realizing it was true. Duncan had been let out of his crate – by accident or circumstance – by a baggage handler and was at present running around on the tarmac. From an airline manager, who’d come out to help, we heard that he’d been surrounded and almost caught, but had bitten a worker and run off again.
It was one of those situations where you couldn’t move quickly enough. There were immediately two security guards at our side who took us down a hallway to the elevator. My husband and I were let out at the bottom floor into a service building next to the runway. We were motioned into a waiting car and the driver took off. Turkish pop music played on the radio and the security guard spoke quickly on his radio, presumably to other roving patrols.
We were on the service roads skirting the runways, which were clear. No planes were taking off or landing. They must be holding air traffic, I thought. Even the most experienced pilot doesn’t want to try to land if there’s possibility of a jet-lagged dog bolting across the flight path.
Our car stopped and another car pulled up going in the opposite direction. By gestures and hand signals we were told that this driver had seen the dog most recently. We leapt into the new car and sped away toward a field at the end of the runway.
Up ahead, I saw something move in the tall grass. I had only a second to think of what I would do if anything had happened to Duncan. I silently decided I would go home right away. I wouldn’t even leave the airport or uncheck my luggage. I would just buy a ticket home and be done with Istanbul. It has to be a bad omen to move to a country, sight unseen, and have your dog run away at first blush.
“Dur,” I managed to yell. “Stop, please.”
The car was still moving as I opened the door and jumped out, running toward the blonde lump in the grass. It was Duncan. But he wouldn’t come to us. We tried calling him by name and said all the funny things you keep private, like referring to ourselves in third-person as “Mommy” and “Daddy.”
He didn’t seem to recognize us, which I didn’t blame him for, considering he’d just been on his first plane ride, bitten his first person and shut down his first airport. (Aw, shucks, baby’s first international incident. We’re so proud.)
Then, something shifted in his eyes and he lopped towards us, crossing the 20 meters and falling in the tall grass at our feet. I fell, too, and so did my husband. The three of us collapsed in that grassy patch just left of the runway.
My husband had remembered in the excitement to bring Duncan’s leash, and so we put it on him and attempted to stand. My legs were still shaky and the dog looked exhausted, but he was not visibly injured. I noticed then that we were surrounded by people – all manner of airport workers, all with big smiles and looks of relief on their faces. We thanked them with as much Turkish as we could muster and got back into the car.
Up at baggage claim, Duncan would not return to his travel crate for the short trip out of the airport. Again, I don’t say as I blamed him. So, we all walked out together and got into the car to go to home.
Despite his unusual start to life here in Istanbul, I’m happy to report that Duncan, though recently beat up by a street cat, is doing fine now and living very happily in his new neighborhood.
