We spied one hidden entry, and asked the lady departing if this were the library. Yes, yes it was she said, and scurried off on her way, never giving a half a thought to expand on that statement. We went into the unmarked door, and found from the graying old security guard lounging behind a curving hardwood desk that this was the LIBRARY – the Museum was across the street.
So with Trixie in her carrier, we wrestled through the doors again and made the perilous journey across the street through another set of doors, handily concealed, and badly designed – the rotating door was barely large enough for the carriage to drag through, and as I manhandled it in, the security guard helpfully pointed out there was a handicap door discretely hidden next to the one we managed to get through.
Of course it was closing time, with less than an hour to go to view all the wonder’s of Lincoln’s cavernous history – did we wish to go in? Ah, what choice did we have? Here, Trixie performed admirably, as they whipped off the sheet to peer inside, lest we were carrying an implement of destruction. Yes, she is a service dog when she is not travelling – and now her service is to calm us in the face of stressful situations where famous attractions deem themselves so obvious that they must remain hidden from prying eyes.