Grand Greeting

I'm in Sydney, city of endless suburbia. It took me longer to travel the 40 km from the airport to my destination out west, than to fly the 900 km from Launceston to Sydney. It's been four years since I landed here, but it seemed like nothing had changed, just a different section of the airport in disarray. Miles of intertwining multi-coloured electrical cabling exposed above us, along with volumes of dust covered bare infrastructure usually neatly hidden behind walls and ceilings.

Despite all this, the welcome from Pilot the wonder Grand-Dog was well worth being crammed into the flying sardine tin for an hour and a half. I carried no contraband with me, so needed no cute quarantine Beagle to sniff me out, though Pilot obviously thought otherwise and that her kin were falling down on their job, for she gave my bag a thorough going over just to make sure.


There's nothing like a whine
tail wag and slobbery kiss
to feel welcomed