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Through a site called ESA Registration of America, I found a clinical social worker in California who, at a cost of a hundred and forty dollars, agreed to evaluate me over the phone to discuss the role of Augustus, the snake, in my life.

To prepare for the session, I concocted a harrowing backstory: When I was six, I fell into a pond and almost drowned.

“Basically, people with the card are allowed to bring their dogs into the restaurant. Contrary to what many business managers think, having an emotional-support card merely means that one’s pet is registered in a database of animals whose owners have paid anywhere from seventy to two hundred dollars to one of several organizations, none of which are recognized by the government. classifies these dogs as a deductible medical expense, whereas an emotional-support animal is more like a blankie. I tethered it to a rabbit leash, to which I had stapled a cloth E. It allows exceptions to housing, and transportation services that otherwise would limit her from being able to be accompanied by her emotional support animal. “But it will outlive us all,” a sombrely dressed representative said in a sombre consultation room.

(You could register a Beanie Baby, as long as you send a check.) Even with a card, it is against the law and a violation of the city’s health code to take an animal into a restaurant. The Frick man read the letter and disappeared, returning with another uniformed man, to whom he said, “She has a letter.”“Can I see it, please? Why didn’t anybody do the sensible thing, and tell me and my turtle to get lost?

(If talking seems too last-century, you can consult, where getting your E. With his penchant for coiling all thirty inches of himself around my neck and face, he felt less like an animal than like an emotional-support accessory—say, a scarf.

He is the diameter of a garden hose, as smooth as an old wallet, and gorgeously marked with bands of yellow, black, and rusty red.

As I walked down Wooster Street, Augustus tickled my ear and then started to slither down my blouse. ) His owner had warned me, “He is good for parting the crowd on a busy midtown sidewalk,” and she was right.“Look, a snake,” I heard a young woman say to her boyfriend, as we passed on our way to an apartment open house on West Broadway.

A moment later, I heard a yelp and a splat, and turned around to see that the startled fellow had dropped his can of soda. Red makes the snake look too dull.”The welcome wasn’t as warm at Mercer Kitchen, where a maître d’ responded to my request for a table by saying, “Not with that! “It’s against the law not to let me in.”“I understand,” he said.

At thirty-five thousand feet, the dog squatted in the aisle and, according to Chris Law, a passenger who tweeted about the incident, “did what dogs do.” After the second, ahem, installment, the crew ran out of detergent and paper towels. Let me see it,” he said, with the peremptoriness you might have found at Checkpoint Charlie.If you ask one too many questions, you’re in legal trouble for violating the Americans with Disabilities Act and could face fines of up to a hundred thousand dollars.But, if you ask one too few questions, you’re probably not in trouble, and at worst will be given a slap on the wrist.”If you want to turn your pet into a certified E. A., all you need is a therapist type who will vouch for your mental un-health. Enter “emotional-support animal” into Google and take your pick among hundreds of willing professionals.“He’s a good icebreaker, too, if I’m feeling shy.”“You want to have more ease outside the house,” the therapist summed up.“Now I want to do a generalized-anxiety screening with you,” she said.

Online dating for pet lovers