I nod. “You might want to get some biscuits. We’ll need them when we meet with our client.”
Edna goes out, and I explain the details of Yogi’s situation to Kevin. We then spend the next hour and a half researching the law. Kevin is far better at this than I am, and my hope is that he’ll come up with something.
He doesn’t. “Yogi’s got big problems,” he says.
He explains that the animal control system’s regulations prohibit them from letting anyone adopt a dog who has bitten someone. It is considered a matter of public safety, not reviewable under any statute. Under certain conditions the owner can take the dog back, but Yogi’s owner doesn’t want him. Nor would we want Yogi to go back to someone who was kicking him.
“Andy,” Kevin says, “are we sure the dog isn’t really dangerous?”
I nod. “I’m sure. I looked into his eyes.”
“You always told me you never make eye contact,” he says.
“I was talking about with people.”
“Oh. Then, are we sure the dog actually bit the guy?”
I nod again. “Apparently so. The neighbor said the guy was kicking him, so…”
Kevin notices my pause. “So…?” he prompts.
“So… it was self-defense.” I’m starting to get excited by what is forming in my mind. “Yogi was a victim of domestic violence.”
“Andy, come on…”
There’s no stopping me now. “Come on, the dog was being abused. He couldn’t call 911, so he defended himself. If he was the guy’s wife, NOW would be throwing him a cocktail party.”
Kevin is not getting it. “If the male dog was the guy’s wife?”
“Don’t focus on the sex part,” I say. “We’ve got a classic abuse-excuse defense here.” I’m referring to the traditional defense used by abused wives who finally and justifiably turn violently against their husbands.
Kevin thinks about it for a moment, then can’t hold back a grin. “It could be fun.”
“The hell with fun,” I say. “We’re going to win.”
Now with a strategy to work with, we spend another couple of hours plotting how to execute it. This defense, when the client is a dog, is obviously not something the justice system or the legislature has contemplated, so there is little for us to sink our teeth into. We’re heading into uncharted territory with few bullets in our legal guns.
Kevin heads down to the courthouse to file for injunctive relief on Yogi’s behalf, which essentially amounts to a request for a stay of execution. The court does not have to see merit in our position to grant it; it need only recognize that not granting it would result in Yogi’s death, which would in effect be ruling against our overall case before we’ve had a chance to present it. Pleading self-defense on behalf of a dead client is not a terribly productive use of anyone’s time.
After his stop at the courthouse, Kevin is going to attempt to interview Warren Shaheen, the man with Yogi’s teeth marks in his legs. Kevin will get his side of the story and try to persuade him to see the merit of our position. Shaheen may well not want to get taken through the torture I’ve got planned for him, and Kevin is going to suggest some alternatives that we’ve come up with.
The first hurdle we’ll have to overcome is to get a judge to consider our request tomorrow, the scheduled last day of Yogi’s life. I head home to think about that problem in the way that my mind functions most clearly. I take my own golden retriever, Tara, for a walk in Eastside Park.
Tara’s official name has changed a few times over the years. Right now it is Tara, the Greatest Creature on This or Any Other Planet and if You Can’t See That You’re an Idiot, Carpenter. It’s a little long, but apt.
I rescued Tara more than eight years ago from the same shelter that currently houses Yogi. Just looking at her now, enjoying the sights and smells as we walk through the park, easily reaffirms my commitment that I will never let another golden die in a shelter, not if it takes every dollar I have. Fortunately, it doesn’t.
Tara and I pass a number of our “dog friends” as we walk. These are the same people, walking their dogs, that we meet almost every time we’re in the park. I don’t know any of the people’s names, and we merely exchange pleasantries and minor canine chitchat, yet we have a common bond through our love of our dogs.
Each one of these people would be horrified to know of Yogi’s plight, and I don’t share it with them. At least not now. But I do come to the realization that my only hope lies in sharing it with all of them.
Yogi is about to become famous.
I call my friend Vince Sanders, editor of the local newspaper and the most disagreeable human being I have ever met. As a terrific journalist, he will take a heartwarming story and run with it, despite not having the slightest idea why it is heartwarming.
Vince’s long-suffering assistant, Linda, answers the phone. “Hey, Linda, it’s Andy. What kind of mood is he in?”
“Same as always,” she says.
“Sorry to hear that,” I say, and she tells him I’m on the phone.
“Yeah?” Vince says when he picks up. “Hello” and “good-bye” are not part of his verbal repertoire.
“I’ve got a big story for you,” I say.
“Hold on while I try to come to terms with my excitement,” is his deadpan answer.
I tell him to get a photographer and meet me at the animal shelter. He doesn’t want to, but he trusts me a little from past stories, so he considers it. I close the deal by promising to buy the burgers and beer the next time we go to Charlie’s, our favorite sports bar.
I drop Tara off at home and then go down to the shelter. Vince hasn’t arrived yet, so I use the time to bring Fred up to date on the situation. I think he likes what he’s hearing, because every few sentences he claps his hands and smacks me on the back.
When I’m finished, he says, “You think you can pull this off?”
I nod. “I’m most worried about the timing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got to get the judge to move much more quickly than judges like to move. I don’t want anything to happen to Yogi in the meantime.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Fred says. “I’ve got a hunch I’m not going to be able to find my syringes.”
He’s telling me that he won’t put Yogi down on schedule, at least not until he’s heard from me. He’s taking a risk, particularly since this will be a well-publicized case, and I appreciate it. As will Yogi when he hears about it.
Vince and his photographer arrive, and I explain the situation to them. When I’m finished, I take them back to the quarantine area. “This is him?” Vince asks. “This is the big story?”
“It’s a human interest story, Vince. Which means that if you were an actual human, you’d have an interest in it.”
Fortunately, Vince’s photographer is a dog lover, and he eagerly gets to work. I make sure that all the pictures are taken through the bars of the cage; I want Yogi’s miserable situation to be completely clear in each photograph.
When he’s finished, he shows Vince the picture he thinks is best, and we both agree. It captures Yogi perfectly and dramatizes the injustice of his plight.
Tomorrow that picture will be everywhere, because Yogi is about to become America’s dog.
* * * * *
SOMETIMES THINGS COME together perfectly.