She attempted to have my dog removed from the aircraft. But the entire team was taken aback by what transpired next 
.
At morning, I strolled through O’Hare’s airport with my small luggage and, against my chest, the bag where Max, my golden retriever mix, napped. He looked at me tenderly with his brown eyes. Max is my assistance dog, and he is more than simply a dog. He has been my rock ever since an accident left me with a nervous disorder and frequent panic attacks. I would be a prisoner of my own body without him.
We had previously flown together, always with our authorizations, vest, and documentation. Never an issue. However, I was going to witness a different side of humanity that morning.
I took a seat at Gate 47. Max felt my nervousness and nestled up against my leg. A woman in her forties, dressed neatly, looked at me with contempt across from us. She yelled loudly enough for everyone to hear after hanging up the phone:
“Dogs are not permitted in the cabin,”
I tensed up.
— “He has all his documentation; he is a service dog.”
She gave a sneer.
“Obviously, it’s just another one of those ways to get a free flight.”
She rushed to the desk and pointed at Max when I offered to show her the documents. Passengers murmured, some doubtful, some sympathetic. My heart pounded. Max grounded me by resting his head on my hand.
The agent came forward with the victorious woman.
— “May I see your papers, ma’am?”
I gave the entire file to them. He looked, grinned, and nodded:
— “Everything has its place. You are allowed to bring your dog on your trip.
My shoulders were relieved of a burden. It wasn’t over, though.
– “This is ridiculous!” The woman yelled. “My allergies are so bad. I’m not going to be stuck with this dog for three hours. I want to be transferred, or he goes in the hold!
Everyone was watching us. My breath caught and my cheeks scorched. Max calmed me by nudging my hand. Uncomfortable, the agent vowed to let the crew know. Confident that she had won, the woman sat down.
I desired to vanish. Max’s looks, however, reminded me that I wasn’t by myself.
The agent came back to me after the boarding announcement was made.
The agent returned with a faint grin of delight when boarding was finally announced. “Ma’am,” he stated firmly, addressing the traveler, “federal law protects service animals.” He is permitted to board. I may, however, give you a seat further away from the traveler and her dog because you stated having allergies.
The woman’s haughtiness vanished. “I shouldn’t have to put up with this!” she cried. “This canine is—”
A booming voice cut her off before she could say anything more.
“Pardon me.”
A tall, graying-haired guy in his fifties rose to his feet. His posture was dominant, and his clothing was immaculate. “I work as a doctor,” he declared. Additionally, I can guarantee that the airline is operating appropriately because I am knowledgeable with both allergies and service animals. If you’re sitting a few rows away, the dog won’t hurt you. It would jeopardize this animal’s safety to deny her.
The room echoed with a murmur of appreciation. Red with rage, the woman fell silent and rushed to the boarding line.
Max was lying quietly at my feet on board. He ground me immediately by pressing his weight on me when I started to feel anxious in midair. I got a little knowing look from the doctor, who was sitting a few rows ahead.
The guy slipped away when we landed, but other passengers praised me, saying, “That dog is a hero.” He was, too. I discovered that kindness still existed with Max by my side, and I was able to breathe freely for the first time in a long time.
