``Will Passengers Spot and Rover please identify themselves to the Flight Crew?''

I don't know if you've heard the latest from the FAA, but hot on the heels of the agency's (thankfully) unfulfilled threat to weigh all passengers comes the news that airline passengers who rely on cats, monkeys or other animals for emotional support may be able to bring the animals into a plane's seating compartment.

I think of myself as an animal person, but this goes too far. Yes, the needy person is getting mental support, which is great, but what about the rest of us? And I say this even though the revised FAA guidelines state animals that pose a public risk, such as snakes, ferrets, rodents or spiders, would not be allowed in cabins.

Who, I want to know, is defining ``public risk?''

Imagine this scenario: You're in the aisle seat, the nervous flier's got the window, and there's an enormous German shepherd buckled into the middle seat next to you. Just as your meal arrives, or you close your eyes to take a nap, the dog realizes he has to go to the bathroom.

But does the dog assess the situation and think to himself, well, she's just fallen asleep; I'll wait a few minutes? No. the dog does not. Or, does the dog notice that your tray's in the down position, and that you've a nice glass of white wine ready to go, and you've just unrolled your napkin? No again. If you've got a dog with a weak bladder, or one who's taking advantage of the free beverages, you'll be up and down the entire flight.

And speaking of meals: While possessing many wonderful qualities, most animals, and I'm thinking particularly of dogs, do not have what you'd call great table manners. So Fido downs his kosher meal in two seconds and then turns his attention to yours. You turn your head for a moment, maybe to take a break from the dog breath, and - poof! - your frosted dessert square is gone, with nary a thank you. Yes, it could be argued, the dog did you a favor - who needs to waste calories? - but even so, that should be your decision.

And you know what's going to happen when the meal's done, don't you? Happy for the chance to get some work done away from the pestering calls that come to the office, you open your laptop and the dog, or cat or monkey, is all questions. ``How much does that weigh?'' `What kind of battery life do you get?'' ``Is the keyboard comfortable?'' (That last one is of particular importance to monkeys, since they're always being forced to sit at keyboards and type away for weeks at a time, to see if they'll re-create Shakespeare.)

Fed up with the nerdy technical talk, and annoyed that the animal in the seat in front of you has put his chair in the full recline position, you pack up your laptop away and settle in to watch the in-flight film, ``101 Dalmatians,'' but your companion - yes, he's become yours, as the nervous flier, comforted by the animal's presence, has fallen into a happy sleep - won't stop chatting about Pongo and Cruella DeVil.

And that's just the beginning. Once the guidelines have been in effect for a while and we've created an entire cohort of jaded animal travelers, they'll be walking through the terminal self-importantly talking on their cellphones, or hogging the pay phones, or slowing down the lines by negotiating with the ticket agent about getting a better seat.

Once on board, they'll force you to look at vacation pictures and listen to their travel horror stories.

I have just one plea: As a courtesy to other passengers, please do not pant or slobber.