Large Fierce Mammal

Most incidents involving an alleged case of a dog biting a human start out with a few common elements:

• the dog accused of doing the biting;
• the dog’s owner. who may or may not be present;
• the dog’s handler, who may or may not be the dog’s owner, and who likewise may or may not be present;
• one or more people who were allegedly bitten by the dog;
• one or more witnesses; and
• circumstances that may or may not have been predictable in advance.

Note the references to, “… may or may not be present,” take into account cases in which a dog has for whatever reason gone off on its own, out of the sight and immediate control of its handler. For clarity and simplicity, let’s assume for purposes of today’s discussion that we have an incident involving one dog accused of having bitten one person in front of witnesses. If a formal complaint arises from such an incident, charges will most often be laid against the dog’s owner, and possibly against anyone else who was supposed to be in control of the dog in their stead. Dogs being considered property under the law, the one involved will in most cases be seized under the authority of the dog control by-law of the municipality in which the incident occurred, and held until it is established that the bite was actually delivered as alleged, the dog was not responding to provocation, and that it does not meet the definition of being “fierce and dangerous”. That last designation can come as the simple result of the dog’s breed being on the banned list, if one exists in that municipality.

There is room for discretion on the part of those empowered to enforce municipal by-laws, and depending on variables, the dog may not be summarily seized, but discretion is a two edged blade, and on the back swing it can also be decided that the dog is to be destroyed forthwith, long before any kind of detailed investigation has been completed that might exonerate it. This is the reality built into most municipal dog control by-laws.

Most such by-laws in place across this country found their genesis in legislation enacted to safeguard livestock from improperly kept dogs running at large. Beyond the enforcement powers it may grant to personnel responsible for their application, most dog control by-laws recognize dogs from a few basic perspectives:

• as a source of licensing revenue;
• as the personal property of one or more persons who are 100% responsible for any trouble their existence may cause;
• as requiring appropriate standards of care;
• as sometimes necessary tools in the execution of certain human endeavours; and
• as a potential problem on a scale running from nuisance to threat.

This is all well and good as far as it goes, and if dogs were automobiles it might be sufficient, but the reality of dogs has gotten left in the dust as municipal councils are forced by media driven public outcry to grapple with regulating something that is far more complicated than it may first appear. The research that has led to better understanding of canine behaviours and their underlying psychology has far outstripped the laws of the land, and likewise eluded the minds of many hapless dog lovers who want a dog to fill a niche in their life that no breed of dog was ever intended to fill.

To illustrate the enormity of the role played by that last “hapless dog lover” part, I’m going to pause here and trot out a quote from my 15 August 2011 article, Some Tales from the Unpredictability Chronicles – Kids and Dogs –

Today dogs too often get chosen because of their appearance, historical significance (real or imagined), pedigree, somebody famous owns one, they’re cute, or because they were there when someone’s will power broke down. Rarely in these cases is it understood that the Rottweiler of the 21st century is still the Roman cattle dog of 2000 years ago, that herded livestock on the march all day, and guarded the encampment at night. That encoded in the DNA of the Miniature Pinscher that warms your lap comes a drive to relentlessly  hunt rats in your barn, and rouse the household to the touch of a door latch, even before its larger brethren have a clue what’s happening. That your cuddly Beagle wants to hunt – all day, every day!

As a result, all too often our phone rings because someone can’t understand why their dog is behaving in a certain way that actually links directly back to a directive originating from the most fundamental fibre of its being. People want us to rehabilitate their German Shepherd out of being suspicious of strangers, their Beagle out of barking at the sudden appearance of a neighbourhood cat. They want their dog to stop being uncomfortable around people it doesn’t know, stop being scared of loud noises so they can come along to watch fireworks, and to accept being man handled by any random stranger encountered on walks. The people involved see these as problem behaviours in need of fixing because they stand in the way of how they want their dog to be instead of how it is, and they must learn that they are only problems when they become obsessive or compulsive. They must learn that dog handling is built on a foundation of understanding, and is part leadership and part management. That the management part comes in when a dog’s personality and needs put the brakes on any further healthy acceptance of  going any further down a road it either won’t or can’t travel. That communication is a two way street, everything will take as long as it takes., and finding the end of a road where one hoped for a pathway to a desired goal is not representative of failure.

So there you have it – for the most part, dogs get into trouble with the law because of clueless human handling. It may be well meant clueless handling, but that doesn’t put any dents in the clueless factor. And then again, sometimes shit just happens no matter how savvy you are or how much care is taken, and your dog ends up wearing it.

To illustrate, I’m going to relate a story from personal experience. It took place in the summer of 1999 in my home town of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, it involved one of my dogs, and while it ended well, the outcome was predominantly due to a legal oversight. It was a very close call indeed, as you will see.

7 week old Pepper on the day he arrived.

Back in June of 1995, a male long haired Border Collie named Pepper came into my life. On the day of his arrival he was seven weeks old and looked more like a fluffy black and white kitten than a dog. Cinders was six months old at the time, and had just been spayed the day before Pepper arrived. Nevertheless, she took him under her paw and did her part in teaching him the ropes.

My house in those days was a perfect place for a dog to grow up. My office was located there, which housed the dispatch centre for the local police department and several area fire departments, and ran 24/7. The dogs had free range, and the job description for anyone coming to work there specifically stated that they were to be, “Free from allergies to or fear of dogs, and be prepared to interact constantly with large dogs in the workplace.” Besides the constant comings and goings associated with the business, I also entertained a lot, and my dogs were never sequestered.

Cinders and Pepper snuggled together in my back yard on a chilly morning that they didn't want to come in out of.

I trained my dogs to be socially adept outside the home as well, and it was rare for me to go into the post office, my bank, or certain stores, without the dog of the day. This started in infancy and continued throughout each dog’s life.

Pepper grew into a smart as a whip specimen of Border Collie perfection who loved socializing with people of all ages and other dogs. I took him through three levels of group obedience classes and got him involved in flyball. He was always a hit when we were invited to demonstrate his super powers for local childrens’ groups. I always began these demonstrations with a talk on the rights and wrongs of interacting with a dog, and used them as a teaching tool rather than a simple “gee whiz” entertainment gig. Afterward, Pepper loved to approach and be petted by his adoring fans who never failed to conduct themselves exactly as I had instructed.

Pepper and me, a couple years before the incident.

Living in Lunenburg at the time, I routinely exercised my dogs in the fields surrounding the local elementary school, Lunenburg Academy. Bordering that was the expansive Hillcrest Cemetery with its narrow network of paved laneways, often used by locals as a sort of somber park to walk in. At the time these events unfolded I had four dogs in total – Cinders, Pepper, Sherlock (a yellow Labrador Retriever) and Dusty. I always walked to the spot with any dogs I had with me on lead, and only permitted off-lead play if nobody else was around. Just a safety precaution. If I came with them by vehicle, I would drive through the cemetery checking for people and animals (Lunenburg contains a healthy deer population) to establish if any off-lead play would be happening. That’s how I came there on the day.

It was a Sunday. With all four dogs, and accompanied by a female employee who had just finished her shift and came along for fun, we first swept the area for interlopers and then parked next to the cemetery grounds keeping shed on the edge of the cemetery adjacent to the large field behind Lunenburg Academy. We got out and I walked around to the right side of my van with leashes in hand.

All my dogs knew the drill from long practice – they sat politely as I opened the sliding door, and only jumped out when released by name, with or without a leash. I had intended to race with them off lead across the field a few times to take their edge off before doing anything else, and had just released all of them so that the group of us were milling around the side of the van with the door still open when two boys suddenly came into sight around the side of the grounds shed. The taller of the two looked to be about eleven to twelve years of age, the other two or three years younger. They were coming from the direction of a trail that led up a steep hill into the cemetery from a wooded area, and I realized that they must have been below the lip of the hill while we were doing our recce. They stopped when they saw us and stood looking at my dogs from a distance of about 30 feet. Cinders didn’t trust children as the unfortunate result of an encounter with an explosively shrieking specimen during the fear imprinting stage of her puppyhood and wanted nothing to do with them. She stood next to me as my employee Karen and I put leashes on Sherlock and Dusty. Pepper had taken a few steps toward the boys when he heard them coming, which was what had first drawn my attention to them, and he was standing about 8 feet away from me looking at them. The older of the boys extended a hand palm up and took a half step forward at which point Pepper walked up to him and sniffed his hand. I called Pepper back so I could leash him with the intention of walking the gang through the cemetery to another less frequented field on the other side. Pepper turned toward me immediately and began to come in when everything went to hell in a handbasket.

I heard a strange, high-pitched keening noise that I realized was coming from the the younger of the two boys, just as he brought his hands together in front of his chest, palms down with fingers together and slightly curved as if he was trying to imitate a kangaroo. At the same time, and with eyes locked on Pepper, he began running in place with a gait that made him look like he was pedaling a bicycle backwards. At this point, about halfway between me and the boys, Pepper spun around and stood barking at the kid as I yelled, “Knock it off!” Then, the kid bolted.

Still keening at a frequency that made my teeth hurt, the kid was off, streaking into the cemetery with Pepper in hot pursuit. He didn’t get far before Border Collie Pepper had headed him off and was playbowing in front of him. I called Pepper who immediately began coming back, and told Karen to put the dogs back in the van while, with leash in hand, I started walking toward the kid to make sure he was OK. Unfortunately, no sooner had Pepper started to obey my command to return than the kid resumed his antics and raced away again, with maddeningly similar results.

This pattern was repeated at least six times across the width of the cemetery, with the kid in flailing, shrieking flight being headed off each time by play bowing Pepper after making it only a few yards, and then standing there blubbering until I called Pepper off before repeating the performance in a new direction. I remember thinking at the time as I repeatedly yelled at the kid not to run that if I had a tazer it would be useless because I wouldn’t be able to figure out which one to shoot first.

Seriously though, the situation was maddening to a degree you must live through to understand. Out of the blue, the capricious Gods had delivered to me a panic stricken lunatic blessed with demonstrative properties perfectly crafted to lure a trustworthy dog that had never exhibited anything less than a 100% rock solid recall, even in the face of fleeing deer and fields full of other dogs, into being bound and determined to round him up. It was obvious that Pepper was enjoying himself, and up until I caught up with the kid, all he ever did was run past him and play bow in his path.

Finally, the kid reached the wooded edge of the cemetery to find his way barred by a waist high tangled thorny hedge of wild rose bushes. There he pivoted to his right to find smiling Pepper once again bowing in front of him. He stopped and stood panting and blubbering with his back to me as I ran up.

He was facing Pepper, with his back to me. Thinking that calling Pepper into moving back to me might set him off again, I told Pepper to down-stay instead, and ordered the kid to stay put. I was nearly within touching distance when the kid grabbed the front of the long, baggy T-shirt he was wearing that came almost down to his knees, gathered it so it formed a long dangling bit in the front, and stepped toward Pepper as he began flicking it at him like a wet towel. Coming in from behind, I tried to grab the kid, just as Pepper jumped to his feet, grabbed the item being offered (the end of the T-shirt), and went into reverse.

“Pepper! Off!” I yelled, at which point two things happened – Pepper let go immediately, and the kid dove through the rose bushes to end up whimpering in the weeds about 10 feet down the hill. I leashed Pepper at last and handed him off to Karen who had watched the final phase of the chase. I called the kid back and helped him through the hedge where I checked him over and asked him if he was OK. He nodded his head but I noticed he was bleeding a bit on his legs and arms from spots where the thorns had broken skin, he was red faced, sweating, out of breath, and obviously still more than a little squirrelly. I told him, “Jesus kid! You’re obviously afraid of dogs but for Christ’s sake don’t ever run from one!”

His older companion, who also witnessed the chase, came up to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Come on. I’ll take you home.” I offered to drive them but they declined.

Pepper wasn't a worrier, and smart as he was, I don't think he ever really got how much trouble he was in.

Karen and I took the dogs straight home. I had a feeling I hadn’t heard the end of this by a long shot. We went into the office where, without discussing the affair beforehand, we both wrote statements which were then passed on to the constable on duty who, interestingly, was one of Pepper’s fans. She routinely played and snuggled with him when she dropped by my office. Not long after they landed, she and I spoke on the phone where I went over a few more details, and told her I would be surprised if  a complaint didn’t come out of this. Well, I wasn’t wrong, but the report that came in sounded like a completely different set of events from the ones I was involved in.

As it turned out, the younger kid’s mother was at work, and he was being cared for in her absence by the older kid’s mother at her place of residence. That’s where they went when they left the cemetery. The story that was told in the complaint was that the two boys had been walking through the cemetery when a man and “his wife” parked a van and got out of it with some large dogs. One of them chased and attacked the younger boy, biting him several times on the arms and legs. The man was really mad,  caught the dog, and yelled at the boys. Then they went home.

The mother of the older boy also submitted a statement claiming that she had taken the victim to the ER at the Lunenburg hospital to have his wounds looked at where the attending physician allegedly treated what were described as, “… a number of puncture wounds caused by a dog attack.” On the basis of this, I was charged under the Town of Lunenburg’s dog control by-law for keeping a fierce and dangerous dog, and four years of perfect Pepper mattered for nothing.

Why did the complaint contain such blatant falsehoods? Who knows? I was a prominent and highly visible business owner in the Town. Maybe there was a financial motive. Kids tend to give coached statements that need to be carefully vetted, and maybe the babysitter was trying to cover her ass for not having taken better care of the other woman’s son. As to the wording used by the doctor, all he knew was that he was treating scratches and punctures on a kid he was told was attacked by a dog, and he didn’t care to question why the “tooth marks” looked more like punctures left by thorns. I was also known to be professionally and personally affiliated with the police and that could have been a factor. I do know that it virtually guaranteed the laying of a charge to avoid any appearance that I was being given preferential treatment. None of that mattered. I did the natural thing – I hired Pepper a good lawyer.

The events described here played out before Mrs. LFM and I were even dating. Ever the lady's dog, Pepper approved my choice, and here he is showing it on 31 December 2000. No, he isn't pulling on her scarf. He wants some of that mistletoe action!

If this matter had gone to trial, and Pepper had been declared fierce and dangerous, a number of outcomes were possible:

1. Best case – he could have lived the rest of his life under an order to be muzzled and leashed every time he was off my property. No more demonstrations for childrens’ groups, no more flyball. The healthy pursuits and lifestyle that shaped and maintained his socialization stripped away at the stroke of a pen.
2. Worst case – he could have been ordered destroyed for the public good.

Even if discharged, having the matter on his record would virtually guarantee his death if anything of the sort was even reported in the future. Ironically, the reason he was left in my care was because I was the one dogs impounded by the local police were brought to.

I told you there was a happy ending to this, and there is; both for Pepper, and his lawyer too on the day I paid his bill. As it turned out, long before we landed in court, Pepper’s diligent lawyer discovered that the Town of Lunenburg’s dog control by-law, as it existed at the time, drew its legislative oomph from a Provincial sheep protection law that had been repealed in 1982. Nobody had noticed, so the Lunenburg by-law, now sans teeth and therefore unenforceable, lingered on the books. Pepper was free, and justice was served, all by a fuck up in bureaucracy.