Ma and I took the dogs for a walk Saturday. In addition to Porky, we now have Taz: beagle/cocker mix, female, puppy.
We needed some things from the pharmacy & I needed to deposit $ in the ATM.
We took Ma's bicycle cart: aluminum frame, twin "stroller," ripstop nylon body. We planned to bring home purchases in it. Additionally, it has a tight-fitting, snap-down lid. I put Porky in it while I can't attend him, so he can't bite people or be disturbed.
There's a minimall near us, with a Mexican grocery. I wanted to stop and look. Ma said she'd watch the dogs while I went in, so we didnt' have to hassle with putting them in and locking the trailer.
I had Oaxaca cheese and crema. I was looking at Mexican candies, just getting ready to make my purchases and leave.
A woman from the "religious supplies" store came in and said, "someone in here own two dogs?"
I replied.
"Well, the big one just bit someone."
I set my selections on the register counter and left.
Ma was shaken. Porkchop was peacefully lying on the sidewalk. Taz was wagging and sniffing.
A woman stood on the sidewalk. She said Porky bit her daughter. I had images of a mutilated, little girl.
The woman was worried about her daughter's jeans, said they were her only pair and that she didn't have money to replace them.
I gave her my name and phone number and asked for her address, so I could send her money to replace the pants.
Soon, the "girl" came out of the religious store. She was about 17. She was crying hysterically, carrying a cell phone.
I apologized profusely and asked to see the bite.
A small tear, in the frayed seam of her worn and filthy jeans, at the thigh. A couple of punctures in the denim, from Porky's teeth. Two small, pink marks on the girl's thigh. There was no blood, no bruising. Porky nipped her as she passed by.
She was crazy emotional; I didn't even try to talk to her after apologizing. She handed her mom the cell phone.
As her mom called 911, I prepared Ma. I said I'd be going to jail; they'd surely bring me in on the warrant for this. I said (based on misinformation from an animal control officer) Porky would be destroyed.
I removed my ID from my wallet. I put my things in the cart, including a scarf I was wearing.
I took Porky off their mutual leash and attached Taz, alone, to the cart.
I held Porky on short leash and instructed Ma to leave, with Taz, and wait to hear from me. She walked off as the police cars arrived. They didnt' even notice her and Taz.
I patiently perched on a concrete block. Porky lay peacefully at my feet in the shade.
The police would look over from time to time, obviously wondering why I was now in trouble. The paramedics examined the girl's "wound." The women left. The paramedics suggested a hospital exam. If the woman wants a civil suit, I suppose they'll go, but I doubt it.
They couldn't afford decent pants for the girl. But they drove away in a gas guzzling SUV.
Porkchop hates the smell of drugs and alcohol. The only times he's become aggressive with humans in the past is when he's smelled mind-altering chemicals on people.
I wonder....
When animal control arrived, I lead Porky to the van. I explained to the officers that he'd think they were heros and best friends, because they gave him a ride. He loves riding in vehicles.
They told me I could sign over ownership to them. He must be quarantined for 10 days (in case of rabies). After that, he'd be released to me.
But, if I were no longer owner, no charges would be filed against me for the "bite." I wouldn't have to pay boarding fees.
The dog laws will change soon. Then, if Porky bit a 3rd time, I'd go to prison.
I almost signed him over, so they could euthenize him after quarantine. But I couldn't decide, so I didn't.
They left with Pork, peacefully smelling his new kennel.
A police officer asked me to turn around for handcuffs. I explained that I'm disabled and would need help getting into the cruiser with hands behind my back. So, he cuffed me in front.
The cruiser has a molded plastic, back seat. I held onto the door handle for dear life. There ARE seatbelts in the back, but I was not able to put one on.
We drove down Central. The officer made personal calls and text messages on his cell phone, eyes not on the road.
We chatted about the new westside jail. It's 18 miles from town. Cops hate driving so far. He'd picked me up within walking distance of the old jail; it would have taken 5 minutes to get there. As it was, it took over half an hour.
I was processed, booked and searched. The new jail looks like a Walmart super store or a mall. It's in the middle of scrub land. There's nothing out there but jackrabbits and the dump. And dead bodies and other refuse, dumped in the mesas.
I was lead into what looked like a clinic waiting room. One tv babbled "educational" films into the room. A huge area, like a nurses' station, housed the office equipment and corrections officers.
There were free phones in the walls. There were unisex bathrooms with windows in the doors. Men on the left; women on the right in molded plastic chairs.
It was sterile. It was hell: the eternal waiting room.
I called Ma. Three hundred, thirty dollars' cash bond only, to be paid at the Metro Court window, 4th and Lomas. She waited out doors, in the dark, for hours until the clerk stopped fussing with papers to take Ma's money.
I called a friend; I gave him Ma's cell phone number. Ma's car isn't running. She'd talked about riding her bike up and calling a cab to bring us down. It would have cost a fortune.
I could wait for a "shuttle" ride back down to the old jail, 1/2 block from where Ma paid the fine (all within walking distance of our house). But the don't run them regularly. Ma would have had to stand in the cold and dark, outside the court house, for up to eight hours, to sign a waiver (taking responsibility for my release) so I could leave their custody.
I sat in the waiting area. I exercised my legs (the chairs are bad on my circulation. I couldn't put my feet up on any furniture. I couldn't lay down in a cell.)
I was "arrested" at about three in the afternoon. They finally released me to Ma about ten that night. I'd have been out hours earlier, but that metro clerk had to spin on her thumbs. The MINUTE they took Ma's money, I was moved to the "release" part of the facility! By the time I was processed out, Ma was signing the waiver and our friend was waiting in the parking lot!
I asked Ma to bring me: a jacket, cigarettes, a lighter, a soda pop and some food.
But there's no soap in the bathrooms. I had to squat over the commode to pee, covering myself with my (thank gawd) long skirt as passersby...male and female...looked in. I hadn't washed my hands in all that time.
So, I couldn't eat. And I didnt' want to hang up our friend by making him wait for me to smoke. So, I just got in and we drove back down.
I said I'd sign over Porky. I warned Ma there'd be a delayed reaction, once we got home. I spent my whole time in jail thinking about ANYTHING else besides how I'd let Porky down.
Ma thought it was her fault. But I kept saying: I should have TRAINED her how to guard Porky from people. He's MY responsibility.
Well, when we got home, I tried to eat. I sobbed over how I'd failed Porky. He bites because he's been SO badly abused. He bites to PROTECT those he loves from those who smell dangerous. Now, for being loyal and loving, for being abused and damaged, he had to die?
When Ma saw the depth of my feeling, she said that, if I was willing to go through the hassles and legal issues of still owning Porky, she'd support me.
It'll cost a lot of money to save him. I could be civilly prosecuted. I could go to jail.
But we'll see. I have to call Animal Control this morning to find out the details.
I go to court on the warrant on Wed. Ma wants to come.
I'll write more about that, later.
But, without Ma, I could NEVER have come up with $330 on cash, just to see a judge and clear the warrant.
After all this is over, I wont' have to be so scared of cops all the time. I'll be able to get a driver's license, too. It'll be easier to get work without a warrant.
I'll write more later.
No comments:
Post a Comment