Stay Open to Adventure

Whenever I am at a party where I have to make small talk, this introvert would really rather slip into the kitchen and help serve or mop the floor. Truly.

But when slipping away is not possible, I can always count on one story to ease the pain of small talk: the day my husband and I flew to New York to be on Regis and Kelly . . . with our dog.

The story begins in 2001, not long after 9/11. I was watching Regis and Kelly, as I usually did in the mornings, and Regis happened to mention that it was “Dog Week.” And on Friday, they were going to have Hercules, the Guiness World Record holder for largest dog, as a guest on the show.

I knew all about Hercules because he was an English mastiff, and I LOVE English mastiffs. To date, we have had nine, but we only have them two at a time. In 2001, we had Sadie, who was a bit anti-social, and Justus, a 275-pound lovable hunk.

So because it was dog week, I took a moment to print out a picture of Justus, then I composed the stupidest poem in history: “This is Justus/ He’s really sweet./ He likes his treats./ He has big feet.

Then I added, “I don’t know how much Hercules weighs these days, but Justus weighs 275 pounds.” Then I faxed my picture and poem to Regis and Kelly. I thought maybe they would hold the picture up to the camera and we’d have a laugh.

Imagine my surprise the next day when a producer called. “Is this true?” she asked. “Your dog weighs 275 pounds?”

“Of course it’s true.”

“If you can have your vet verify the dog’s weight, we want to bring you and your dog to New York on Friday.”

“That won’t work.” I laughed. “Justus won’t fit into even the largest dog crate.”

“No problem,” the producer said. “We’ll get him a VIP ticket, and he can ride in the plane with you.”

Well!

I took Jussy to the vet and, after laughing, the vet called the producer and verified my dog’s weight. Then the producer said it was official–they wanted us to be on Friday’s show.

“There’s one problem,” I said. “Friday morning and Saturday I’m teaching young writers in New Jersey. So my husband will need to come with me so he can fly home with Justus.”

“No problem,” the producer said. “We’ll fly you both up.”

When the hubby came home, I gave him the news. He lifted a brow. “And WHY do we want to do this?”

“Because it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” I answered. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

So he agreed. We told our friends to be sure to watch Regis on Friday, and they said they would. The school where my husband volunteered even said they’d show it to the middle schoolers.

So Thursday afternoon, we packed a bag and dog biscuits and went to the Tampa airport. People gave us strange looks, but they parted like the Red Sea when we approached the ticket counter. Sure enough, there was such a thing as a VIP pet ticket, and we were warmly greeted when we explained that we were going to be on Regis.

Now, you have to understand–this was only a few weeks after the terrorist attacks of 9/11. The airports were a mess, people were tense, and the security lines were long and disorganized. But when we walked up to security, all those tense faces melted into smiles. People surrounded Justus, petting him, and he was an instant star. Fortunately, his personality was –imagine that cartoon character who always said, “Uh, Gee, Tennessee–” know the one I mean? Laid back and a little dopey.

So we got onto the plane, and the flight attendants figured we’d have the most room sitting behind the bulkhead. That way Justus could spread out, which he did. The flight attendant wasn’t able to get the cart past him, but they had more than one.

As the plane got ready to take off, the pilot came on the intercom and said, “Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. You’ll be happy to know we have JUSTUS on board this plane!” Given the tense mood of the era, everyone burst into applause.

Fast forward to the morning of the TV appearance. When we walked into the studio, I saw that they had set up a huge teeter totter on the stage. Gelman was there, so I asked, “Do you really expect my dog to get on that?”

“Why don’t we try it?” he said. So I had Justus climb the steps onto the (supported) teeter totter, and then Gelman kicked out the support. The teeter totter shuddered and fell, and Justus decided he didn’t like it.

We went into the green room, where we met Hercules (who’d been on a diet), and several little tea cup dogs–chihuahuas and the like–who looked at my dog and shivered. Their owners cooed and comforted the wind-up dogs, while I tried to keep Justus happy. He was still pretty laid back, happily munching on snacks from the caterer’s table.

We watched the show on the TV, then it was our turn. Hercules went first, and climbed up onto the teeter totter with no problem. Then we went out, and since I’d been slipping Justus treats, he was pretty wet-mouthed. Kelly made a big deal about the big drool, then we walked over to get onto the teeter totter.

The camera stayed on Kelly and Regis as they explained they wanted to have a “weigh-off”–and the largest dog would win a year’s supply of dog food. Then Regis pointed to us and said, “Gelman, shoot this–we have drama over here.”

What had happened? Quite simply, Justus decided he didn’t want to do the teeter totter again. So my poor husband was at Justus’s rear, pushing with all his might, while I stood in front of the teeter totter, holding up food I’d taken from the table in the green room–croissants, bagels, anything to motivate that mountain of dog. Justus was drooling–a veritable river–but he wasn’t budging. No way. And if a 275-pound dog doesn’t want to move . . .

Finally, Hercules’ owner came over and gave Gary a hand, and together they got Justus on the see-saw. The scale tipped in Justus’ direction, and he was the winner . . . until they brought in a ringer. Moose, from New Jersey. That dog was so big he broke the scale at his veterinarian’s office. Had to be 300 pounds.

So Moose won the title of “Heaviest dog” and earned a year’s supply of dog food (which he really didn’t need). Then we all crowded the stage–all the little dogs and the big dogs–and we waved goodbye as the show went off the air. Then I rushed off to go teach in New Jersey (which, thank the Lord, is right next to NYC), and Gary flew home with Justus.

He was a celebrity at the airport. He gave autographs and Justus gave pawtographs, and Joan Rivers walked by and called out a greeting to them. Justus slept all the way home.

For about a week after our trip, we experienced our 15 minutes of fame. We were invited to bring the dog onto a radio show, and we were in the paper, but my favorite outing was when we were invited to a special class at a school. The students were elementary age, and most were blind or deaf. Justus walked into the room and lay down with the kids, and they surrounded him, feeling his head, his ears, petting his huge body . . . while hubby and I stood in the back of the room and wiped away tears.

Maybe it all happened because of those few moments . . . so Justus could be a blessing to those kids.

Justus is now in heaven, and we’ve never had another dog quite like him. Mastiffs are wonderful with kids and generally friendly, but we’ve never had another one laid back enough to able to handle the plane ride, the crowds, and the teeter totter. So I know it was a God thing.

He works in unexpected ways . . . so keep your eyes and ears open!

If you want to watch the segment for yourself, here it is:

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Angela Hunt

Christy-Award winner Angela Hunt writes for readers who expect the unexpected in novels. With over five million copies of her books sold worldwide, she is the best-selling author of more than 165 works ranging from picture books (The Tale of Three Trees) to non-fiction books, to novels.

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