The Column: Not every dog (or peacock) has its day as an Emotional Support Animal

Walter Mondale was under the seat in a carry-on bag and, so far as could be told, enjoying the flight immensely.

We are not discussing the genial former U.S. vice president who served with Jimmy Carter and lost a 1984 White House bid to Ronald Reagan.

That Mondale is 90 and, based on a recent photo, doing well and showing no sign that he requires conveyance in a tote with air holes.

The Walter Mondale in question was a small dog — cuddly and well behaved — accompanying a young woman on a flight to New York. “The world’s most lovable loser,” said the passenger by way of explaining the pup’s name.

This particular dog had a special talent, his owner explained. She suffered from epilepsy and her pooch — is this great, or what? — was able to sense when a seizure was coming and signal the young woman, allowing her to prepare.

Bravo, Walter Mondale! Welcome aboard.

I was reminded of Walter when, recently, a Brooklyn performance artist named Ventiko tried to fly with a peacock named Dexter from Newark to Los Angeles on United Airlines.

The peacock provided emotional support, Ventiko claimed, but United said Dexter did not meet size and weight requirements. The peacock? Unflappable. An Instagram update in Dexter’s name said “human friends” would drive him across the country. Subsequently, Dexter messaged to say Ventiko and he had reached Oklahoma.

In news coverage that followed, we learned that airlines have policies regarding Emotional Support Animals — ESAs — and that thousands of creatures each year travel with owners who feel more secure in the company of a simpatico parakeet, pig or hedgehog.

But things appear to have gone too far — on record is a diaper-wearing duck — and airlines are tightening guidelines. In simple terms: Walter Mondale, yes. Dexter the peacock, no.

Some might see this as a missed opportunity in terms of guest services: Plane encounters turbulence; captain orders flight attendants to sit down and buckle up; intrepid peacock patrols the aisle urging calm.

Still, the line has to be drawn somewhere.

“Customers have attempted to fly with comfort turkeys, gliding possums known as sugar gliders, snakes, spiders and more,” said a Delta Air Lines publicity release. Aren’t excursions to the aft restroom daunting enough without brushing by a sugar glider or comfort turkey? I think so.

Don’t get me wrong. I like animals though, ever wary, lean heavily away from exotica — snakes, spiders and whatever Delta means by “more.”

As a kid, I longed for a dog. We lived in a tiny Brooklyn apartment. Both parents worked. I was in school. No one else was around. Who would take care of an animal? “Yeah,” I said glumly to Mom and Dad. “You’re probably right.”

I was just waiting for my chance.

When we were newlyweds, my wife, Wink, and I headed for the local animal shelter before hanging curtains in our first apartment. There sat a beautiful little fellow — a “Sheltie mix,” someone told us — and we took him home.

I named the dog George Thomas Duffy after a beloved journalism professor at the University of Missouri, where I went to school. Soon enough, we learned he had a considerably different personality than his namesake.

Whereas Duffy was restrained and deliberate, George the dog — “G,” we called him — was unpredictable and improvisational. In those days, we listened a lot to folk singer Joan Baez. When Joan sang, “G” joined in. It is impossible to imagine the taciturn Duffy doing the same.

“G” logged 13 years. Our four kids loved him. It was heartache all around when he departed.

But not for long.

Next came “Fernie,” a beagle pup who somehow fell into a canal behind our rental house in Bayport and, sad-eyed and soaking wet, offered himself for adoption.

“Puh-lease!” shouted the children.

“What do you think?” asked Wink.

“If no one claims him, OK,” I said.

No one did. Fernie settled in and never left.

Years passed. The kids, out on their own, weren’t home the night we had to bid Fernie goodbye.

“Never doing this again,” I said.

“Me either,” said Wink. “Too sad.”

That was long ago.

Sometimes Wink and I think about a dog — such great pals, they are — but, for now, at least, we’re doing fine as one another’s ESA. Size and weight OK, and no problem at the boarding gate.