Welcome to the Family (A short, short, doggie story)

    They must have been holding the plane for him. As he enters the aircraft cabin the flight attendant assists him with his overcoat and suitcase and shows him to his seat – something she hadn’t done for me or any of the other passengers.
    He approaches my row and, with a casual nod in my direction, squeezes past me to the window seat, his cell phone gripped in one hand. As he settles into the soft leather he punches in a number using only his thumb, then wedges the phone between his neck and shoulder before fastening his seat belt. 
    His movements are fluid yet deliberate and unhurried. He has the air of a man in charge. He radiates authority. Entitlement. The kind of man who demands and receives what he wants, when and how he wants it. The big boss. The decision maker. The caller of the shots.

    The flight is behind schedule. The attendant leans across me and signals him to turn off his phone. He responds with the just one minute forefinger wave, and the attendant moves on.

     I wonder how it feels to be that self-assured, to know that people suppress their own desires in favor of your own? What would it take to bring him down to the level of everyday folk? What situation would leave him acting and feeling like the rest of us? Has he ever been the loser in a battle of wills? 
    Someone special must have answered his call for his body eases back and relaxes into the tufted seat. I tune my ear towards him.
     “Hello, Tracey, honey, it’s Daddy....I’m on the airplane...No, I’m still in Houston. The plane’s about ready to take off. Where’s Mommy? ...I know you missed me, Sweetie, but I’m on my way home now....That’s right, I’ll be there before you go to bed. …Yes, in time to tuck you in.”
    I am eavesdropping. I dare not turn toward him, but I sense an indulgent smile.
    “Did you have a good day at school? ...Cupcakes, eh? Yummy. Was it somebody’s birthday? ...Alisha’s? ...Seven years old. Wow. I’m glad you had fun, honey. Now let me talk to Mommy.”
    The fingers of his free hand begin a rhythmic tapping on the armrest. He casts frequent, casual glances over his shoulder in the direction of the flight attendant.   
    “What’s that, love?...No, we can’t get another dog. ...No...no, we already have two dogs. That’s enough for one family...I know there are three people in our family, honey, but we can’t get another dog.”
    He lowers his words to an insistent whisper. His body tension increases and his finger- tapping revs up.
    “No, you don’t need your own special dog. ... I’m sorry, your own special puppy. Honey, a puppy is a dog. It’s a baby dog. …In the kitchen? What’s a puppy doing in the kitchen? ... What? You brought it home? Where’s your mother? Put your mother on the phone...Tracey, get Mommy now. Please... I’m not yelling.”
    I silently agree. He’s not yelling, but a quick glance in his direction confirms that his jaw is clenched. He may still be under control, but he is definitely not in charge.
    “Tracey, please stop crying...Tracey...Hey, Babe. What’s this about a puppy? ...You didn’t have to do that...Why’d you take it?...Then give it back. You know we can’t afford another dog....I don’t care how cute it is....Then she can just un-love it. We don’t need a third dog....I’m not being heartless, I’m being practical. Do you know how much money we spend on dog food? ...Okay, puppy food... Maybe not now, but he’ll eventually become a full-grown dog ...All right, she will become a full-grown... She? You got a girl dog?”
    Now he’s yelling, but it’s controlled, hushed yelling. He blows out a breath.
    “Just what I need — another female in the house....Hey, wait a minute. It was a joke. ...Okay, it was a bad joke....C’mon, sweetheart, it was supposed to be funny....I’m sorry, I’m sorry....Look, I’ve gotta go. They’re signaling me to end the call. We’re backing out of the gate....Is she still crying? Tell her we’ll discuss it when I get home. Tell her....Okay, put her on, but hurry.”
     I sense capitulation.
    “Trace...Tracey, honey....Look, we’ll talk about the dog, um, the puppy when I get home, okay?...You have to stop crying, honey, I can’t understand you....Tracey, listen. We have to talk about it some more, but maybe I can work out a way for you to keep the dog. Just stop crying, okay? …I didn’t say you could, for sure, keep it, just maybe....All right. Good girl. Give Mommy a kiss for me. ...I love you too. I’ll be home soon. ...You want me to say goodbye to...to who?  …Millie. Who’s Millie? The puppy. You gave the puppy a name? That’s it. I’m sunk. Bye-bye, Millie, and welcome to the family.”
    He loses. 
    Booyah!