I should have learned with “All Aboard!” that traveling by any form of transportation except a horse is just not Emily’s cup of tea.

Requiring a few wheels, a couple of wings, and a stinky jet engine, my choice of travel this last go-round looked good on the computer screen, but a steamboat probably would have been a little easier on the nerves and anxiety level.

Remember “back when,” how an airline representative was called on the phone with no interruptions and speaking perfect, understandable English while choices of flight dates and hot meal selections were discussed and verified?

Clicking “yep, I’ll take that one,” I instantly found my flight confirmation and itinerary in my email box. Another email followed immediately from my bank, letting me know in no uncertain terms that the airline had my money and there were no take-backs.

Three weeks before the trip, I started making a to-do list. Why must a person vacuum behind their fridge before going on vacation? I can see the importance of mowing the lawn or making sure the fences are fixed, but dust bunnies?

Leaving Ed to care for my cats and horses, I had to rewrite the chore list several times in “Ed language.” Knowing full-well he’d walk in the barn and toss feed to anything that whinnied or meowed anyway, I just hoped like heck the horses wouldn’t get kibbles and bits and the barn cats a bowl full of oats.

Debating the cost of checking my bag or going home for a pack mule and paying for another seat, it was a toss-up.

I was seated with my forehead against the seat-back ahead of me, silently daring the fellow next to me to push my elbow off the shared arm rest. We were good to go.

Captain Cody made the usual flight and altitude announcements, but there was a little hesitation and irritation in his voice. After a while, he spoke up again, saying we were waiting on airport personnel to load the baggage and that we need not fret. All of us passengers heard his two-finger whistle as he attempted to get the attention of busy airline workers bustling to and fro. Pretty soon, Captain Cody got out of the cockpit, went down the steps, and tossed in the suitcases by himself! He came back into the plane to a round of applause as that bit of “over and above” isn’t seen too often nowadays.

With my head between my knees at takeoff, I opened my eyes long enough to stare right into the blank gaze of the biggest cat I’d ever seen inside a carrier under the seat in front of me. As I was fingering for my Dramamine, this cat let out a howl that unnerved the entire plane, and then it promptly puked on my boots.

I wished I’d eaten a little more breakfast or taken along some bacon and beans, as we flew over the mighty Mississip without either. The fellow in 6A must have had a few beans earlier, though, as that interpretation speaks – and smells – for itself.

The “fasten seat belt” ding-dong rang loud and clear as Captain Cody announced we could expect some turbulence as we flew over a thunderstorm. Please, cat, please puke again so I’ll have something else to think about!

The banging noises unnerved the whole passenger list as they got louder and louder. Everyone and their uncle was looking through the windows with white knuckles for a piece of missing plane. Our stewardess tried to look inconspicuous as she walked down the aisle with her head straight forward, but you should have seen her wild eyes searching for an inside flapping piece of aircraft! As the thunder boomed below us, there was one last big bang inside as the bathroom door flew open and out squeezed this “big” guy with, well, I’ll just say part of the biffy still connected to him.

Past the storm and satisfied with our meal of water or soda, the landing was smooth as a goose’s rump.

Not having read between the lines when planning my little trip, I discovered a change of jetliners was required. As the stewardess announced the departure gate of B94, I grabbed a pen and wrote it on my hand for safekeeping.

As I let my elbow down so my seatmate couldn’t complain that I hogged the armrest the entire flight, we were wished a happy day by the crew.

I’m at the stockyards every once in a while hauling critters when Ed’s busy in the field, but this next airport put all blaring cows and squealing hogs to shame. The sidewalls had to be 50 feet high, and I think people were actually stacked half that high in one corner.

Finding my departure gate was easy, but the thought of standing for an hour shoulder to shoulder amongst throngs of people just didn’t set right. Spying the open chair, I lunged for it, not paying attention to the little detail of it being three feet higher than the rest in the airport. The “suited ups” on either side were busy reading their newspapers, so I dug out my Western Horseman magazine to fit right in, feeling lucky as a fly on watermelon to have found such a comfortable waiting chair. Making small talk to the suits, I didn’t get as much as a grunt from either side.

“Ma’am? Excuse me, ma’am?” I tried to keep my head still as my eyes popped out, but I don’t think it worked too well as I realized exactly where I was and what the guy with the apron on was asking. As I leaned down and whispered that the correct boot color was brown and the bits of salmon and tuna could be brushed off, he reached up and turned my upside-down magazine to a readable position…