I testified under oath in court today because four years ago a dog bit me. It happened on the very day I decided to start "walking" outdoors for exercise. On that lovely October morning a frisky little Weimaraner charged and took a chunk of my thigh in its jaws. In shock, and vowing never to exercise again, I stumbled home and eventually discovered that the dog had a long history of nibbling on passersby, and was owned by a Russian couple named Boris and Natasha. Could a moose named Bullwinkle be far behind?
A little worked up, I told my emotional story on the stand and was asked if the owner of the pesky pooch was indeed present in the courtroom. "Yes, your honor," I proclaimed, "that man there"-- and pointed a finger at the stone-faced Boris. Three other bitees told their stories, one witness for the prosecution going so far as to lift her pant leg all the way up to reveal a high heel, a naked gam, and a telltale scar on her upper thigh. As judge and attorneys leaned over the witness stand to get a closer look, I found myself daydreaming about Marlene Dietrich.
4 hours and many whispered deliberations later, the judge awarded damages to the damaged one, while the wily Weimaraner remains on the loose in Waltham, where it has been banished. Yes "banished." Sounds medieval, you say, but believe it or not it's what passes for a solution in towns that haven't yet figured out what to do with an unruly pup. In this case it seems downright unneighborly since the canine in question has reportedy begun sinking its canines into a fresh batch of unsuspecting Walthamites.
When all is said and done, I am happy I had my day in court, but the case of the wayward Weimaraner has weft me with a wittle case of weltschmerz. Woof.