At JFK, I saw a woman loudly FaceTiming without headphones while her little dog pooped in the middle of the terminal. When a man politely pointed it out, she glared and snapped, “Some people are so damn rude,” and walked off, leaving the mess behind. It was the third time she’d done it since check-in.

She was rude to TSA, barked at a barista, and let her dog bark at everyone. Staff had spoken to her, but she brushed them off like she owned the place.

When I reached my gate – the flight to Rome – there she was again.

Everyone at the gate looked exhausted. Not from the travel – from her.

After hours of her yelling into FaceTime, blasting music without headphones, and letting her dog bark at every stroller, elderly person, or rolling suitcase, the entire terminal was fed up. You could feel the collective eye-twitch every time she opened her mouth.

So when people saw her sit at the gate, they either moved seats or silently prayed she wasn’t on their row. Some even whispered, “She’s really going to be on this flight?” and looked around in panic.

Everyone avoided her. Except me.

I sat right next to her with a calm smile on my face. I already knew what I was going to do.

“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Is your dog okay with flying?”

She looked up from her phone, clearly annoyed. “He’s fine. He’s a service dog,” she said, emphasizing the word like it gave her diplomatic immunity.

The dog—a tiny Pomeranian named Churro, according to his collar—was wearing a sequined harness that said “SERVICE DOG” in Comic Sans. I didn’t say anything, just nodded.

“He’s very sensitive,” she added, reaching into her designer tote to pull out a handful of treats, which she sprinkled on the floor like she was feeding pigeons in a park.

“Looks like he has a sensitive stomach too,” I said, nodding toward the mess still smeared on the tile back at the café line.

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you work here or something?”

“Nope,” I smiled. “Just a dog lover.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to FaceTiming. Her volume was so loud I could hear the other person clearly saying, “Where are you? Are you being rude again?”

To which she responded, “People are obsessed with me, it’s crazy. They just stare.”

But what she didn’t notice was everyone was staring now. Not with admiration—just frustration.

Eventually, we boarded. She had priority because of the “service dog.” I saw her make a scene again when a flight attendant asked her to stow her oversized bag. “Do you know who my father is?” she shouted.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Classic line.

Once I boarded, I could already hear her barking at someone about not wanting to sit next to “a child.”

She wanted to be moved to first class. She wasn’t booked in first class. A standoff ensued.

The flight attendant, Mateo, handled it like a saint, but I caught the subtle eye-roll behind his smile. Eventually, she sat. Row 23, middle seat, dog carrier on her lap. She looked like she’d been sentenced to community service.

I was directly behind her. And I hadn’t come alone.

I run a small travel blog. Nothing massive, but I’ve built a following by sharing honest stories, tips, and—sometimes—cautionary tales. And this woman? She was a walking cautionary tale.

Before boarding, I’d filmed her little tantrum about the TSA “violating her rights” when they tried to inspect Churro’s carrier. I’d also caught the barista scene. Not to mention the poop incident—recorded and timestamped.

I never post strangers’ faces without a good reason. But this wasn’t just rudeness. It was entitlement on full display.

So, I started a thread. Title: “LIVE FROM JFK: Meet Churro and His Human Disaster.”

Within an hour into the flight, the first video had over 60K views.

I wasn’t trying to be cruel. But sometimes, people need a mirror.

Three hours into the flight, the real chaos started.

Churro pooped. Again. This time, in the aisle. The smell hit like a wave.

Flight attendants scrambled. Someone gagged two rows back.

The woman threw a fit. “This is your fault,” she snapped at Mateo, “for not letting me sit in first class where there’s space for him to relieve himself!”

Mateo tried to keep it professional. “Ma’am, your dog must remain in the carrier unless it’s actively working. This is not considered appropriate service animal behavior.”

“Are you calling my dog fake?”

A murmur spread through the cabin. Someone said, loud enough for half the plane to hear, “Lady, your dog’s wearing rhinestones. Let’s be real.”

She demanded compensation.

Mateo politely informed her she was welcome to file a complaint.

She called him a fascist.

It got worse.

Apparently, she had smuggled a bottle of white wine in her tote. Halfway through the flight, she started drinking it. Then, FaceTimed again. In airplane mode. Somehow, through Wi-Fi.

Loud, slurred, giggling. Talking about “peasants in coach.”

She bumped into the seat in front of her so many times the woman sitting there finally snapped, “Do you mind?”

The diva glared. “You people are obsessed with me!”

She knocked over a cup of orange juice. Didn’t apologize.

Then she made the fatal mistake. She took off her shoes.

Now I’m not usually petty. But at that point, I sent out another update: “Update from 38,000 feet: The service dog is loose, the wine is flowing, and the shoes are OFF.”

By the time we landed in Rome, the entire thread had exploded.

300K views. 10K retweets. DMs flooding in.

Some people recognized her. She was a “micro-influencer” who’d once gone viral for harassing a retail worker during Black Friday. Apparently, she’d been “canceled” once before.

But here’s where it gets interesting.

Right after landing, she tried to cut the customs line. Claimed she had a “medical condition triggered by waiting.”

A customs officer firmly told her to return to the back. She faked a limp.

Two officers escorted her out of the line.

I didn’t post that part. I didn’t need to. The earlier footage had already caught the attention of an Italian animal welfare group. And TSA. And—get this—the airline itself.

Turns out, falsely claiming your dog is a service animal is a federal offense.

But that’s not even the twist.

The real twist came three days later.

I was in Trastevere, sipping espresso and updating my blog, when I got a message from a woman named Renata.

“Hi, I’m Churro’s original owner.”

I froze.

Renata told me she had rehomed Churro under difficult circumstances. She had been diagnosed with a rare blood disorder and had to move in with her parents in rural Sardinia, where dogs weren’t allowed. She’d listed Churro for adoption with a vet’s help.

The woman from the airport—Bianca—had seemed normal at first. But a week after the adoption, Renata got a weird message: “He doesn’t like kibble. He only eats rotisserie chicken now.”

Then nothing.

She’d tried to follow up, but Bianca had blocked her.

She thanked me for sharing the thread. Said it gave her closure to see Churro was still alive, though not exactly thriving.

Now, I’m not saying I’m a hero. But I made some calls. Connected Renata with the animal welfare group that had contacted me.

They looked into it.

A week later, Bianca’s “service dog” status was revoked. She was fined. Churro was removed from her care for neglect and distress during flights.

And guess where he went?

Back to Renata.

I cried when she sent me the photo.

Churro, nestled in a hand-knit blanket, snoozing in a sunlit room somewhere in Sardinia.

As for Bianca? She went private on all platforms. Her “influencer” brand tanked after sponsors dropped her. Apparently, the thread reached a PR firm that had been considering a deal with her. One Google search and—nope.

But here’s the funny thing.

When I posted the final update—just a wholesome photo of Churro with the caption “He made it home.”—it got more love than the whole saga combined.

People were tagging their friends, sharing rescue stories, debating airplane etiquette, and offering support to Renata.

Some messes clean themselves up. Others just need a little nudge.

I didn’t set out to go viral. I just sat down beside the person no one else wanted to deal with.

Sometimes, kindness looks like confrontation. Other times, it looks like filming the truth.

But most times, it looks like a dog named Churro finally getting to go home.

Be kind. Not just because it’s the right thing—but because you never know who’s watching. Or recording.

If you liked this story, give it a share—someone out there needs the reminder 🐾💬👇