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"Get our bags, Benji," Mrs. Mercier commanded.

She meant it as an order, too, even though Benji was ostensibly her son. Mona had never been on board with adopting the boy. That had been her husband's idea. Not that Gerald Mercier of the Mercier Coal Mines in upstate New York thought of the boy as a son. Benji was another dependent he could write off on his taxes who could serve as a free hand-servant for him and his family.

Benji grabbed the three suitcases that he'd packed for his parents and sister. "Hand-servant" was right, since he was the only one with hands. Gerald, Mona, and Isabelle Mercier came from a long line of Pedigree four-legged French Poodles. Mona's family was old money, but Gerald worked his way into wealth, starting as a lowly coal-sniffing dog, before managing to purchase a small mine of his own. Investments lead to his success and success led to his marriage into the rich bitch's family.

But Mona was used to servants, and Gerald was used to saving money, so they compromised and adopted a two-legged mutt from the orphanage. Benji was twelve when they adopted him, now he was fifteen, while the girl pup of the family was just two years younger. But of course, Mona gave Isabelle all the attention. The girl was a stunning grey color just about half-way between her father's black fur and her mother's white, and both females were fastidiously pampered models. Like most show Poodles, their faces and legs were shaved to show grey and white skin, with lustrous curly manes and a tail tuft. That, at least, was one task they trusted only to their groomer.

Mona had to subject herself to daily dressing by the boy though. Gerald took to relatively simple pants and a suitcoat with a tie, but the ladies liked to accessorize. But the most awkward accessory both were wearing, underneath their skirts. Both had just gone into heat, and that meant an extra step for Benji as he strapped small, concealed diapers on his sister and mother every morning. With their shaved rumps, there was no real escape for the poor boy, nearly face-to-face with their swollen, pheromone-rich spades. Why hadn't Gerald adopted a _girl_anthro?

The teenaged boy wasn't into ferals at least, and he certainly wasn't interested in his stuck up family members. So he wrapped them up, holding his breath, then dressed them up and touched up their nails. If the boys at school knew what he had to do every morning, he'd never be able to show his face! No, Benji only had eyes for their driver, Angela. The eighteen-year-old Anthro girl was a pure-bred Doberman, with rich black fur and caramel highlights that almost matched Benji's more mottled fur. No one knew who'd left Benji at the orphanage, but they suspected he had some Doberman in him.

But in the last week, their regular driver had been replaced by a Scottish Deerhound, an old man with a grey-furred beard that really did nothing for the hormone-filled boy. Mona could sense that her "son" was angry, but she hadn't fired Angela because of Benji's infatuation with her. "I've got this, Jenson," Benji nodded at the new driver, pulling all three bags behind him as he ran to catch up with the strident Poodles.

"Hurry up!" Gerald groaned at his boy-servant.

Normally, they had pre-booking, but something seemed to be wrong with the card. After ten minutes of complaining to airport staff, the grumbling Gerald resigned that it would be faster just to wait in the line with the lesser folk.

"I don't want to wait in line!" Isabelle whined.

"I know, sweetie, and I tried to convince the kind airport people there was a -"

Mona rolled her eyes. "You let the fools bamboozle you, dear. You really should have put your foot down! Now we're in among these folks..." She glanced at the other people in the line, a mix of ferals and anthros of much lower station. But they didn't seem to notice or care how highly the Poodles thought of themselves. Gerald bit his tongue, wanting to yelp about how he could buy and sell these TSA workers, but restraining himself for decorum's sake.

Benji rolled his eyes, making sure his family couldn't see. He said, "It's only a short wait - we're still on time for the flight." They were flying out to an upscale getaway destination with other rich folks and golf (at least for the Anthros) and wine. Benji liked the swimming pools okay, whenever he was allowed to have a little time to himself.

"The indignity of it!" Isabelle harrumphed. "What if one of these galoots wants to root around in my bag?"

Gerald cautioned, "That's just a routine thing, my dear. Just do what they say and pretend it never happened, okay?"

Mona was grateful at least that Benji was around to get their bags ready for checkout. He fastidiously removed all the electronics from the bags. Touch screens were especially useful for ferals, and the Merciers had all sorts of devices that each needed to go into their own bins. Perhaps if he'd been faster things might have gone differently, but when Mona went through the X-ray scanner, a TSA agent was flagged over. After a brief discussion with the X-ray specialist, the tall, Anthro husky glance down at the posh poodle with piercing blue eyes. "Sorry, ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step to the side of the line."

"Excuuuuse me?" she gaped.

Gerald called from behind the line, "Just do as he says, dear."

The husky said, "Scanner picked up an anomaly and I'm going to have to pat you down."

"An 'anomaly'? I dare say you will not 'pat me down'! This is - you must have -" she stuttered, not wanting to talk openly about her heat-pad.

"Just a quick pat down, ma'am, the officer repeated, taking an obvious step toward the Poodle's plump rump.

"This is ridiculous. I'm not hiding anything! It's...just a feminine hygiene product."

"If you're not hiding anything, ma'am, then you'll agree to the pat down?"

"Mona..." Gerald barked.

But his advice wasn't taken. The white Poodle sniffed and said, "Let me go through the metal detector. There simply must be another option. This never would have happened if my stupid husband hadn't messed up our pre-boarding!"

Compounding the issue was Isabelle's turn, which resulted in the same request! The thirteen-year-old pup looked dumbfounded when the husky, whose name badge read 'Carl', suggested he would have to 'pat her down' around the crotch area to confirm the only thing she was hiding was her heat-swollen spade. "Mooooom!" she whined.

"Now you listen here, you glorified doorman," Mona said in a huff, her tail raised, "This is discrimination, plain and simple. I will not allow you to feel up my daughter!"

Up until this point, the husky had been remarkably patient. But upon this accusation, he flattened his ears. "Excuse me, ma'am, but these are standard operating procedures." His patience had run out, and he was about to teach these 'dogs' what happens when you talk down to the TSA...