Airport Adventures or “Working Dog- Please Do Not Pet”

I figured I would post a few of the interesting adventures I’ve encountered. It’s particular story has also been published on the Cressona Paranormal page. But for all of you who have never seen it, and for those of you who have chuckled at it before. I have been told that this story is best done “live”, so if you are ever at one of our presentations on our encounters or our ways of working with the Dead, please just ask me to tell the story. If we have enough time, I’ll happily perform it…… AR

I’ve been asked if there has ever been a time that I’ve been tempted to think that “it’s all in my head”. Whenever I’ve been confronted with the thought either by another or by my own self doubt, I have my faith renewed by the little things, and sometimes the Big Things…

Airport Adventures or “Working Dog- Please Do Not Pet”

There is a time in every practitioner’s life when you get slammed in the face by the undeniable fact that This Shit Is Real. Sure I had been touched by my spirits, done healings, seen all kinds of weird things, but there was still a portion of my brain, however small, that still held an iota of “Yeah Right”. This small comforting thought that I was only pretending to be in a much bigger spiritual world than I could ever comprehend was obliterated by an unexpected airplane ride, a statue of a dog and a clueless security guard.

I was traveling from Dallas Airport to Harrisburg. I was supposed to have gone by train, but it turned out to be cheaper to fly. So there I was, with a bagful of clothes and a black canvas bag with my Villi Dog statue, Baku, cheerfully poking his head out like a chihuahua in a rich girl’s purse. I checked in my clothing bag and prepared to go through security. I was told to put the Bag with Baku in it on the conveyor belt and walk through the metal detector. Now, between bracelets, necklaces, ankle bracelets and the various charms in my hair, i was not surprised when it went off. Taking jewelry off and things out of my pockets was not making a bit of difference, so I was ushered through to receive a pat down.

While all this was happening, my carry on bag and Baku went through the conveyor and I saw that Baku had squirmed his way out of the bag. He was happily snuggling in the arms of a security guard and I saw a big doggy grin on his face. Suddenly, to my dismay, I see the security guard begin to twitch spasmodically. He knees were buckling and he was complaining that all the hair on his neck and e back of his arms was standing up. For those of you unfamiliar with the ATR paths of Palo, Santeria and Vodou these were the tell-tale signs of oncoming spiritual possession. The guard was probably sensitive and holding Baku probably triggered and excited the man’s spirits. The woman that was patting me down was done with me. I rushed over to the security guard, took Baku out of his arms, turned his face towards me and looked him in the eye.

“Do you trust me?” I asked.
The security guard looked at me with a groggy expression. “Yes.”
I quickly took off my hoodie, revealing my various tattoos. So picture this, please. I am here in an airport, my braids and dreds held back in a bright blue bandanna, multicolored thread weaved through them along with charms made of silver, bone and stone. Designs are inked into my shoulder and chest. I throw down my bag and rip it open, grabbing out a bottle of what we affectionately call La Bomba, some cascarilla and the wing of a snow goose. I douse the security guard’s head, muttering prayers as I continue to splash him, then I wiped him down with the wing, smeared his forehead and the back of his neck with cascarilla, then slapped him hard on the shoulders and sucked air in front of both of his ears.

Then I look at the grinning dog, now sitting on the conveyor belt, who looked genuinely pleased with the mischief he just wrought. “BAD DOG!” I say to him in my head. He simply grinned wider and thumped his tail.

I turned back to the security guard. The color had returned to his face and he was no longer twitching. He was sitting slumped in a chair. I handed him a bottle of water and he drank eagerly. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes,” he said, “thank you. Whatever that was you did.”
I nodded and put my hoodie back on. Then I put my naughty dog back in his bag and looked around to make sure I was good to get on the plane. The last thing I heard before I was on my way was the female guard who patted me down, a big black woman with a hearty laugh and a wide smile.

“GIRL!!” she called out to my retreating back, “You need to come on back to Jesus!!”

I waved, and handed in my boarding pass.

1 Comment

  1. This is my formal request to witness this played out before me in person! Eian and I both got a good chuckle out of this one.

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