by Wick Downing
“I’ll tell her,” he said, glancing at Miss Willow. His smile disappeared. “Hello, Miss Willow. No hard feelings, okay?”
She wouldn’t look at him, which may have been the only mean thing she ever did in her life.
Miss Willow and I sat at the plaintiff’s table, where she kind of hid next to me with her head down. Then Judge Steinbrunner’s clerk came in through a door that led into the judge’s chambers. “All rise!” she said, and everyone stood up as the judge followed her in through the same door. He climbed the steps that took him to his chair behind the bench, and stared around the room through his horn-rimmed glasses, like an owl with a robe on. From his perch he could look down on everyone. As soon as he was in his chair, the clerk said to the rest of us, “Be seated.”
“Miss Hope,” the judge said to me, holding the motion in his hands, “in all my years on the bench, I’ve never seen anything like this.” I stood up quickly, my knees shaking like a skeleton in a hurricane. “In my experience, dogs get destroyed. They don’t get executed. Now, a man can get executed if he commits a certain kind of crime and gets caught and is prosecuted and convicted and all the rest of it, but the law isn’t quite as careful about dogs. Why is that?”
“I. . .” I swallowed. What would Grandfather say? “Because dogs can’t vote?”
“Well now.” He chortled and pushed his glasses back on his nose. “You have a point there. All right, it’s your motion. You may proceed.”
“Proceed?” I’d been so busy writing and filing the motion that I’d forgotten about what I’d have to do in court. “You mean . . . ?”
“Yes.”
The main door into the courtroom opened. The cavalry to my rescue? I turned, hoping it was Mrs. Davis with a suggestion, or Grandfather to take my place . . .
Mike Doyle! He grinned at me and sat down.
“I’m waiting, Miss Hope.”
I didn’t need Mike there at all! I hated having someone I actually knew, watching me. “Sir, it’s just—my client’s dog is going to be executed or destroyed unless something is done about it.” My voice was so tiny I could hardly hear it myself.
“You’ll have to speak up,” the judge barked. “This is a court of record, and what you say is being taped. Now speak up, young lady.”
I closed my eyes . . . and saw Neil Armstrong! What was he doing in my brain? “The Eagle has landed,” I heard him say.
If those men had the courage to fly to the moon, I could stand up to an old judge. When I opened my eyes, the judge’s scowl didn’t seem so awful. I smiled at him. “This is June eleventh, 1973, in the Municipal Court for the City and County of Denver,” I said, imitating some of the lawyers I’d watched in court. “My name is Kate Hope and I represent Miss Wilma Willow, who is here. Also present is Mr. Carl Thomas, of the city attorney’s office, and Officer Dan Milliken, Municipal Animal Control. You have before you a motion for injunctive relief.”
“Well now. That’s better.”
“The City wants an order from you, sir, to murder my client’s dog. I filed this motion to keep that from happening.”
“Your Honor, I object to Miss Hope’s characterization of the order,” Mr. Thomas said, jumping up. “It doesn’t say anything about ‘murder.’ Just last Friday, this Court had a hearing about the dog, and evidence was presented, and the Court found that the dog is a dangerous dog. The order before you is for the dog’s destruction.”
The judge nodded. “Miss Hope, I’ll just supplement the record a bit.” He had that tiny smile on his face that I didn’t like. “A complaint was filed by the city attorney on June fourth about this dog, and there’s a certificate of service showing your client was served with a copy. The complaint alleges that your client’s dog is dangerous and should be destroyed. There was a hearing on June eighth, and Mr. Thomas proved to my satisfaction that the dog was dangerous. I told the City they could destroy it once there was a written order. Mr. Thomas said he’d draw it up. I assume he has it with him. Am I right, Mr. Thomas?”
“Yes, sir.” He handed a piece of paper to me, but my eyes had blurred over with terror, and I couldn’t read it. “Let the record show I’ve served a copy of the order on the defense.” He handed another one to the judge.
“Miss Hope, is there any reason I should not sign this order?”
“It would be cruel and inhuman.” How could this happen? I was ready to cry!
“A legal reason. This is a court of law.”
“I don’t have a legal reason, sir. But it isn’t right! It’s not fair! Herman didn’t have a lawyer at that hearing. He didn’t know what was going on. He had no one there to defend him!”
“Calm down now.” The judge’s face softened, but not by much. “I recognize that what’s fair is open to interpretation, but in law, it’s fair as long as the other side had the opportunity to be there and defend. Now, the record shows Miss Willow was personally served with the complaint. She had notice of the hearing. It was her decision, apparently, not to be there. But she could have been, and with a lawyer too, and she could have put on evidence. I have already made a finding of fact in this case and am not inclined to reopen it without a reason. Do you have a reason?”
Miss Willow had been served with papers? She’d never said anything to me about them. “Judge, can I have a minute, please?” I begged.
“You may.”
I huddled over Miss Willow like a storm cloud. “Miss Willow, did someone give you some papers about this?” I whispered.
She dug through her purse and pulled out a large, thick envelope. “I think this is what he means.”
It was all there. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, in a whisper that could be heard in the hall.
The poor thing acted like I’d hit her. “Please don’t hate me. I found these on my porch today, when I went home for lunch.”
I sat down next to her. “You didn’t get these until today?”
“No.” She started to sob.
I looked through them for the certificate of service. It said a deputy sheriff had given her all the papers on June 4, at ten in the morning. “But it says right here that a deputy sheriff gave them to you on the fourth!” I hissed at her, trying to keep my voice down.
“But I wasn’t even home then,” she said. “I was at the animal shelter, with Herman.”
“All day?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did Maria see you?”
“Yes.”
I could breathe! “Sir! I have a legal reason!”
“What is it?”
“Miss Willow wasn’t served with a copy of the complaint until today! She did not have notice of the hearing!”
“Young lady, the certificate of service says she was served with a copy of the complaint on June fourth, sworn to by a deputy sheriff. Are you calling him a liar?”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t do that. But Miss Willow wasn’t home at ten o’clock on the fourth. She found these papers on her porch today.”
The judge glared at me long and hard. “So you admit you have them with you now?”
I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“But you say she just happened to find them on her porch today?”
“Yes, sir,” I said again. Miss Willow kept tugging my elbow. “Can I have another minute, please, Your Honor?”
“You have one more minute.”
“It’s happened before,” Miss Willow whispered to me, in her tiny voice. “The mailman has a terrible time.”
“What do you mean?”
“People forget the west.”
What did she mean? I looked at the envelope. “Your Honor!” I said. “The sheriff’s deputy took the papers to the wrong address!”
It didn’t take long to explain. There was a 368 Cedar Street, and a 368 West Cedar Street. Miss Willow got their mail, and they got hers. The certificate of service showed that the deputy sheriff had given the papers to someone at 368 Cedar, but Miss Willow lived at 368 West Cedar. Whoever typed the envelope had made a mistake.
“Your Honor, a suggestion?” Mr. Thomas asked as he stood up.
“What is it?”
“We could have the hearing now. Officer Milliken is here, with his reports, ready to testify. The dog’s owner is here as well. Miss Hope can cross-examine Officer Milliken to her heart’s content and put on any evidence she has. All the due-process protections are in place, and it would save the Court’s time.”
“Makes good sense,” the judge said. “Miss Hope, don’t you agree?”
The judge was being awfully nice, and so was Mr. Thomas. “I . . . well . . .” But this time Grandfather’s face came into my brain. He wouldn’t agree. He’d be disagreeable, in fact. Lawyers aren’t hired to get along with judges and other lawyers, he would say. Their duty is to protect their clients! To do that, you need time to prepare your case!
I got the message. I wasn’t ready for a hearing now. I hadn’t even looked at the reports. “No, sir.”
“Very well,” the old man said through his teeth. “We’ll have another hearing. Mr. Thomas, make certain Miss Hope has copies of all the reports. I don’t want to do this a third time because she hasn’t had discovery.”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Thomas said. “I’ll give them to her now.” He pulled some papers out of his file. “Let the record show Miss Hope received a copy of the police report and a copy of the animal-control officer’s report.” He handed them to me.
“So noted,” the judge said. “We’ll have the hearing in this matter on Friday, June fifteenth, at two o’clock. Anything else?”
“Judge, the hearing will be—I mean—to you, sir?” I asked.
“Of course! What did you expect!”
That wouldn’t do Miss Willow any good. The judge had already made up his mind. “We want a jury, sir. A trial to a jury?”
“What?” He looked like he was going to jump over the bench and hit me. “A jury trial for a dog?”
“She doesn’t think you can be fair, I guess, Judge,” Mr. Thomas said, smiling at me. “But as the Court knows, our ordinances don’t allow for jury trials for animals. She’s stuck with you, sir.”
The old judge started to chuckle. “Well now. A chip off the old block, perhaps.” His face glowed the way older people’s do when they remember something that happened when they were young. “She has the right, Carl, but it’s not in the city ordinances. I remember it because I was in the city attorney’s office when a young man fresh out of the district attorney’s office brought suit against the city on that very point. Do you know who that young man was, Miss Hope?”
“No, sir.”
“Your father.” He started writing again. Zozo did that? “He won the lawsuit, but the jury convicted the dog. Ask your grandfather about it.”
Tears leaked out of my eyes and I started sniffing and my mouth loosened up. Zozo had come to my rescue, which is what fathers do for their daughters. My heart just seemed to swell up with . . . love?—even though it was horrible, trying not to cry.
“Are you all right, young lady?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine,” I said, wiping my eyes off.
“How much time will you need to prepare?”
Miss Willow handed me a Kleenex. “How much can I get?”
He smiled at that. “What about it, Carl? When shall we try this dog of a case?” He beamed at me over his pun.
Mr. Thomas wasn’t very amused, though. “It costs the city fifty dollars a day to keep dogs at the animal shelter,” he said. “I’d recommend an early date.”
“Do they feed them steak?” the judge asked. “Goodness.” He turned a page in his book. “Thursday, June twenty-first, Miss Hope. That’s ten days.”
“Plenty of time, sir.”
“That’s the order, then. We’re adjourned.” He started to get up.
Miss Willow jerked my arm. “Can I take Herman home?” she whispered to me.
“Judge, can the dog go home?” I blurted. “I mean, can Herman be released on bail?”
“The City strenuously objects,” Mr. Thomas said. “That animal has bitten a baby. If he bites again, we could be facing a serious lawsuit.”
“Miss Hope?” the judge said.
“Sir, we don’t know if he bit a baby. That’s what the trial will decide. If he goes home, it would save the city fifty dollars a day.”
“The evidence was very convincing, Miss Hope. But I’d consider releasing him if I could be absolutely certain your client could control him and he wouldn’t bite anyone.”
“I’ll keep him in the house,” Miss Willow whispered.
“My client will keep the dog in her house until the trial, sir,” I said.
“The whole time?”
“Well, I guess he’d probably—you know.”
“All right. You prepare an order, ordering the City to release the dog to your client until the trial, and ordering her to keep him inside the house except as nature requires him to go outside. Bring it to me this afternoon and I’ll sign it. You understand that the dog won’t be released until the City has a signed copy of the order?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re in recess, then.” He stood up, walked down the steps, and disappeared.
Miss Willow gazed at me like an angel worshiping God. No one had ever looked at me like that. Mike sat there with a big smile on his face too, and I just soaked up all that adoration, tingling inside and feeling wonderful. Then Mr. Thomas got in my way. “You were lucky today,” he said, “but don’t let that sweet old woman get her hopes up.”
“Why not?”
He made a motion with his hand. Slicing his throat.
Chapter Eight
MISS WILLOW wanted to drive us to the office, but that could take forever, so Mike and I decided to walk. She gushed all over Mike when he opened the car door for her and helped her in, which she didn’t need. It drives me crazy. He’s a boy, so he’s a “fine young man” to Miss Willow. But I’m a girl, which makes me a “dearie.”
Then Mike tried to take my briefcase out of my hand, as though I needed help too. “Don’t,” I told him.
His face fell. All the way to the sidewalk. He was brought up to treat women as a different species who constantly need the helping hand of a big, strong man, but wasn’t brought up to deal with rejection. I’d wounded his ego.
“Here,” I said, handing him my briefcase.
“You were so great,” he said, happy now. “‘We want a jury, sir,’ just like Perry Mason. ‘What!’ And the way you sprung that trap. ‘Miss Willow wasn’t served with a copy of the complaint. She didn’t have notice of the hearing!’ That other lawyer’s ears? I could feel the heat.”
“Mike, I got lucky.”
“It didn’t look like luck to me,” he said. “You outfoxed him. Want a Coke?”
“Can’t. Too much to do.” He’d locked his bike to mine and looked really sad when I opened the office door and took my briefcase out of his hand. “Call me tonight?” I asked him.
“Maybe,” he said. “If I have time.”
Mrs. Roulette was so pleased with me when I told her what had happened that I almost called the Judge to tell him about it too, but I didn’t want to wake him if he was asleep. While Mrs. Roulette typed up the order for Judge Steinbrunner to sign, Miss Willow and I read the reports Carl Thomas had given me about the case.
They’d been written by Animal Control Officer Milliken, and Officer Smith of the Denver Police Department, and they were horrible. They said that Ursula Jespersen, age 18 and the babysitter for a family who lived in Cherry Hills, had taken their tiny daughter to City Park. She wheeled the infant in a baby carriage to a location near the duck pond and had stopped to watch the ducks when suddenly a large dog knocked over the carriage, picked up the baby in his jaws, and started to run off with her. But a man charged in and made the dog drop the baby. The brave man held the vicious animal with a dog chai
n until Officer Smith arrived on the scene and radioed Animal Control.
Miss Willow nearly fainted. “Herman would never do something so awful!” she said. “They must have the wrong dog.”
Right. But there wasn’t time to worry about that now. Mrs. Roulette finished typing the order, and I ran it over to the judge with lots of copies, and he signed them all. The city attorney got one, and Miss Willow took two of them with her to the animal shelter. She was all smiles and tears when she drove off to get her dog, but my brain wouldn’t stop whirling around in my head. Zozo had gotten his dog a jury trial, but it hadn’t saved the dog.
Clients began to materialize in the reception room, and I spent what was left of the day trying to help them. I used Grandfather’s office because it was cooler, there were more chairs, and I love that old roll-top desk he keeps the telephone on.
At six thirty I called Mom. “I’ll be another hour at least,” I said.
“You’re not riding your bike home then,” she said. “I’ll come get you.”
“Mom, please. My legs are twitching and I really need it. I won’t be able to sleep!”
“Not without a bicycle light. I’m sorry. You can do deep knee-bends for the twitching.”
“Mike has one on his bike. I could ride with him. Ask him if he’ll come get me?” He lived on the same block, two houses from mine. “If he won’t, then I promise not to argue about it. Okay?”
“Why was it so much easier to be a mother when my mother was a mother? I always did what she told me to do. With you, I have to negotiate everything!”
An hour later, when Mike showed up, I still had two clients to go. The first one needed help with a bill collector. I told him I’d write the agency a letter and try to work something out. The second one just needed someone to tell her what she already knew. She had three kids and no money for food because her husband was in jail and couldn’t work. And she wouldn’t go to the welfare department for food stamps because he had told her he’d beat her up if she did that, when he got out! Just like a man, I thought, not to think things through. His pride had its place, but should his family starve because of it? “Go get food stamps,” I told her. “You don’t have any other options. Tell him your lawyer said she’ll kill him if he beats you.” That lightened up the atmosphere. “Tell him too that he can always pay the money back to the welfare department.”
