With puppy as travel partner, the skies are friendlier than ever

Who needs Underdog? My dog flies, too. Sure, he needs a plane, but Jake's adventures in the sky are far more entertaining than anything I've seen that cartoon superhero do.

Since I got my Jack Russell terrier pup in May 2007, we've flown six round-trips - five of them cross-country. I'd never flown with a dog before. And traveling hasn't been the same since I put a canine in my carry-on.

Our adventures begin at security. In addition to removing my laptop from its case and taking off my shoes, I need to remove Jake from his case and take off his collar. With my hands full - shoes, suitcase, dog, dog carrier, collar, computer - I think to myself, "My hands are full with a puppy," and remark to the man next to me, "I don't know how anyone travels with children."

"Neither do I," he replies, as he and his four toddlers head to their gate.

As we board, a flight attendant announces: "If you've brought any live animals on board, they need to remain in their carrying case and under the seat in front of you during the entire flight." She and I both know there's only one live animal on this red-eye flight - mine - and that I know the rules about keeping him in his carrier.

The challenge has been issued.

After takeoff, the cabin lights dim so the passengers, and any live animals on board, can sleep. Under the cover of darkness, I sneak the puppy from his carrier, hide him in my shirt and doze off. A few hours later, I open my eyes to see a small Jack Russell head poking out of my shirt, checking things out. No flight attendants in sight.

Jack Russell Terriers 1, Flight Attendants 0

The Charlotte, N.C., airport - newly smoke-free - provides a unique outdoor respite: a small park area frequented by dog walkers and smokers. It's an area Jake knows well: Each time he's passed through North Carolina he's stopped in this park to mark his territory, and he's headed there once more.

But on this trip, an added bonus: My dog-hating brother-in-law happens to be on our flight! The coincidence is even more amusing because his boss loves the puppy - as do the gate agents, who remember Jake's arrival a few days earlier (fortunately, they didn't see the pup relieve himself next to the metal detectors; Homeland Security workers helped me clean it up quickly). The gate agents even let him stand on their podium, and laugh heartily as he picks up the passenger manifest in his mouth and tears it to shreds: "We can print out another one."

We arrive in Charlotte, where my dog-hating brother-in-law and his boss are to meet a colleague at the rental-car counters. They don't know where the rental counters are, but Jake does, and he leads the way: Rental cars are right next to the smoking and dog-walking area.

Crisis at the dog-walking/smoking area: In the excitement of showing off my dog to my dog-hating brother-in-law's boss, I've left our boarding passes on the plane! The line at the check-in counter is long. But the First Class check-in line is empty. And I have a four-legged secret weapon.

"We can give you a new boarding pass," I am told, "but only if we can pet the puppy!" I oblige, and the agents come from behind the counter to pet the dog for several minutes. They don't even notice it when their supervisor comes to the now-unmanned First Class counter, sees his staff on the other side petting a dog, and walks away shaking his head.

Another cross-country trip, and thanks to frequent-flier miles, this time we're flying First Class. I get a comfy leather seat, free cocktails (not hugely useful, being a 7 a.m. flight), and a hot breakfast; Jake goes under a comfy leather seat, gets no drinks, gets no meal. My ticket costs $5; his costs $175. I am a happy boy; he is not. And he lets everyone know.

He barks through security, barks down the concourse and barks at the gate, even though he has his favorite toy - a stuffed chipmunk - in his carrier with him. ("You got a dog and a squirrel in there?" a woman asks me.)

Jake barks as we board, barks as I settle into seat 3C, barks as I put him under the comfy leather seat in front of me. He barks all through boarding, through the "if you've brought any live animals on board" announcement, as two flight attendants separately stop by to "remind" me he has to remain in his carrier.

The man in 2C (who has a barking dog about three inches beneath him) is not amused. Neither is the baby in 4C. Maybe it's time for a free cocktail after all.

Jake barks through the safety demo, through taxi and takeoff, through the First Class breakfast service (sorry, Baby in 4C, you're in coach). Jake stops barking only for the on-board movie, "Firehouse Dog," a sweet little film that opens with a dog being thrown from an airplane. I hope it doesn't give the other passengers ideas.

The film ends, the barking resumes, cueing Baby in 4C to cry. I think it's funny, but nobody else does - nobody except Flight Attendant 3, who comes up from coach and says, "What a cute puppy, let me hold him," and takes him out of his carrier.

Score one more for the Jack Russell.

The most convenient dog-walking area at the Cleveland airport is an odd patch of grass that's actually atop a portion of a parking structure. I stretch my legs and Jake lifts his; then Jake finds three dead birds. "Good boy." (Bleah.)

Arriving in Harrisburg, Jake pees "hello" to the Homeland Security agents, who bring paper towels and spray cleaner.

Sometimes a free ticket means an extra connection, so flying home to California from Harrisburg means stops in Detroit and Minneapolis - and a day of surprises.

The first surprise (to the crew, at least) is that airplanes need to be weight-balanced, a fact that delays us 45 minutes. Jake is worried - we were scheduled to have only 51 minutes in Detroit in the first place - so he barks all the way to Michigan.

But Detroit's airport is sprawling, providing a lot of room for a dog to run. We make excellent time - Jack Russells are quite swift - and make our flight with seconds to spare.

Actually minutes. Sixty of them. In an un-air-conditioned plane (apparently, the airline is surprised that a sealed metal tube grows toasty in the hot summer sun). I soon ignore the under-the-seat rule, and Jake swelters on my lap.

An hour and no explanation later, we take off. Jake's back in his case, doing more math: A one-hour connection, minus a one-hour delay, equals an hour of barking. All the way to ... Green Bay! There are thunderstorms in Minneapolis, we don't have fuel to circle (Surprise!), so we're going to land and refuel.

"This is his first time in Wisconsin," I tell my fellow passengers.

In Wisconsin's sports capital, the plane gets fuel, the passengers get water, and the flight attendants don't even comment about the dog sitting on my lap.