Ma’am, What Happened to Your Passport?
Super Sam
In July of 2006, I had my bags packed and a ticket around the world to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I’m a bit of a “planner,” so for weeks before my flight, my passport, a copy of my passport, and $300 in cash were sitting on the console in our living room. These were things I could not leave (live?) without.
On the day before my flight, my husband went to get a haircut, and I hopped in the shower (feeling pretty high on life and excited about my trip!). When I got out of the shower, I heard our little Beagle Sam up to no good in the living room. I assumed he had gotten a hold of the newspaper or a magazine (two of his favorite snacks at that time). When I came downstairs, expecting to scold him (though in my great mood, I knew I wasn’t going to make Ceasar Milan proud of my disciplining), I saw the carnage. My passport, the copy of my passport, and $20 bills had been torn limb from limb and displayed almost intentionally all over the living room. Sam sat there, wagging his tail with the remnants of my passport in his mouth.
I fell to my knees. I sobbed in disbelief. I had planned this vacation to visit my best friend for a year. I could not bring myself to look at Sam, who still sat there wagging his tail. I called my husband, and I’m certain he had no idea what language I was speaking, between the tears and sobbing hiccups. Mid-haircut, he drove home and his jaw dropped when he entered the house.
Eventually, we located a passport office that was open on Saturdays until noon. I only had to bring the remains of my passport, get a new picture taken, and then hustle down there, with time to spare for them to process my request. The poor photographer at the CVS store attempted to get me to smile for my photo, but I was still in a state of shock.
Finally, some levity. When we reached the passport office, I put the handful of torn pieces of my passport on the counter, along with my new photo. The saint behind the desk asked me to simply write about what had happened to my old passport. I said, “You mean, that my dog ate it?” Laughing out loud, she said, “Ma’am, yes, please explain what happened to your passport.” After I returned the completed form to the counter and sat back down, finally taking a breath, I heard an eruption of more laughter behind the desk. At that point, I was ready for a good laugh. In what seemed like ten minutes, I had a new passport in my hand.
I must have hugged Sam for an hour when we got home. Of course, he had wreaked havoc on our day, but all I could think is that he knew I was leaving and he didn’t want me to go. And, after all, he just needed something to chew on, right?
Beagles will be beagles, and he has destroyed many other things throughout the years, but I am going to assume that nothing will ever top the demise of my passport.
