Uniformed or Not

Maybe I was partially obscured by the rose bush and why the man did not see me. Perhaps he was an asshole in waiting.

Either way, as a dog catcher, and once knowing I was present, he should have backed off, put his catch-loop away, got in his truck, and headed down the road. Instead, he insisted on capturing my dog to take him to the pound.

Had Buddy not been on private property, on my property, I would have had no leg to stand on in this case, but that was not what happened. It was my dog, my yard, his trespass, and theft.

Making myself known to the man was easy as I stood up and spoke. He looked at me, hesitating before snaring Buddy about the neck. Buddy yelped as the man pulled him from the grass and towards his truck.

In two long strides, I was next to the man who was assaulting my dog, trespassing on my property, and stealing my pet. He was not ready for the violent confrontation I laid upon his person.

In a flash of calm anger, I punched him in the nose and swept his feet from under him. The sudden pain and fall caused him to let loose of the snare, allowing me to pick it up.

Carrying Buddy to my open front door, I removed the noose and locked him inside our home. The dog catcher was on his feet by then, and when I turned to face him, he was calling for assistance.

Still pissed but frighteningly calm, I snapped the fiberglass rod over my knee and tossed it at him, which hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Then I stood on my porch, arms folded across my chest, waiting for the sheriff’s deputies to arrive.

Soon, three cruisers pulled up in front of the house. Two deputies started across my yard towards me, while a third spoke with the still-bleeding dog catcher.

“What happened?” one asked me.

“He tried to steal my dog from my yard,” I said.

“Where’s the dog?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s a simple question.”

“And it was a simple answer.”

“It was only a question…”

“And now I’m invoking.”

“You’re making a mountain out of a mole hill.”

I remained silent.

One of the two that approached me stepped back and mumbled into his microphone, and I heard a muffled “10-4.”

Minutes later, a fourth car pulled up, and a sergeant exited. He walked over to the deputy standing with the dog catcher.

“What’s going on?” I heard him ask.

The one who had spoken into his microphone walked back, and the four pow-wowed, speaking in tones too hushed to hear. Finally, the sergeant walked up my drive and stood at the base of my porch.

“He says you assaulted him.”

“He’s invoked his right to silence, Sarge,” the one who had never left said.

“Do you want to talk to me?”

“He tried to steal my dog from my yard, and I refused to let him.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to get violent.”

“Someone steals from you, in front of you, and you’d remain peaceable? I call bull shit on you!”

He scratched the inside of his right ear hole like my dirty mouth had caused him an irritating itch.

“And if you don’t believe me, my neighbor has a camera, right there pointed at my yard.”

“Okay, excuse me for a second.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He walked across the street and looked at the infrared camera mounted to the side of the house. Then he walked over to the dog catcher and asked in a voice that I could hear, “Am I going to find anything on that recording that contradicts your claim?”

There was a long pause as the dog catcher didn’t answer.

“You know that’s abuse of office and maybe even color, a felony, right?”

Still, the dog catcher didn’t answer. Then an animal control supervisor pulled onto the scene, parking in front of the catcher’s truck.

“If you want to go check on your dog, you can,” the sergeant said.

Nodding, I unlocked the front door and went inside the house. I knew Buddy was okay, but I wanted to remove myself from the three deputies who insisted on staring me down.

Less than 10 minutes later, I heard a light rapping at the front door. Checking the peephole, I saw the sergeant and the supervisor standing on my step, so I opened the door.

“Do you want to press…” the sergeant started.

“No, I don’t,” I interrupted. “But I do want to say that he is the first person I’ve ever met who is entirely unfit to be a dog catcher.”

“Okay,” he said.

Then the supervisor said, “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure for what — but your welcome.”

“Have a good day,” the sergeant said as he turned and walked from my porch.

“Stay safe, both of you,” I said as I closed the door, knowing how close I came to nearly being arrested for assault.