Ellie smiled apologetically at Nolan. “Curt, you know perfectly well I’d recognize Kadjo anywhere. After he’d finished chasing all the birds, he picked one up in his mouth and brought it over and put it at my feet, like a present. He was real proud of himself. It was Kadjo, all right.”
“Well, Ellie, he was just doing what comes naturally,” said Nolan in a soft voice that made Lucy wonder exactly what their relationship was. “It’s his instinct, you know.”
White reached for his gavel, but was interrupted by Crowley.
“Is the dog vicious?” Crowley asked. “That’s what we’ve got to determine. I’d like to hear from the animal control officer.”
“Ms. Anderson—come on now. It’s about time we had your report,” said White.
Cathy Anderson leafed through the thin folder. She gave a big sigh.
“The way I see it, the dog isn’t vicious. He isn’t a problem dog. This is the first complaint I’ve had about him. Kadjo needs a little training and he really ought to be neutered. Frankly, I think that would take care of the problem.”
“Neutered!” Nolan was back on his feet, his face bright red with anger. “That’s outrageous. Besides, he’s a pedigreed dog and I plan to breed him.”
White banged the gavel and glared at Nolan, who promptly sat down.
Watching Nolan, Lucy saw that he was having a hard time restraining himself. He seemed tightly coiled, like a spring, ready to explode.
“A lot of people feel that way but it’s really kinder in the long run. He’ll have a longer, healthier life,” said Cathy. She turned to White. “That’s my recommendation.”
“Thank you,” said White. “Do I have a motion?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” demanded Nolan, unable to contain himself any longer. “Face it. It’s what you’ve been doing to my people for thousands of years. Trying to wipe us out. It’s not enough that the U.S. government has waged a sustained policy of genocide against Native American people for hundreds of years. Now you’re after our dogs, too. You can’t let wild Native American dogs breed, can you? Nope. All you want are Welsh corgis and Scottish terriers and Irish setters—Old Country breeds.”
“Order!” snapped White, banging down his gavel. “You’re out of order, Mr. Nolan. That vote isn’t until next week.”
Suddenly, a little lightbulb went on in Lucy’s head and she understood the tension between White and Nolan. Nolan was a Native American, one of the town’s few remaining members of the Metinnicut Indian tribe, the original inhabitants of the area before European settlers arrived in the early eighteenth century. The tribe had recently applied to the federal government for recognition and had asked the board to endorse their application. That vote was scheduled for next week, and if Lucy had been asked to predict the outcome, she’d have to say the Metinnicuts’ prospects weren’t good with this board, especially White.
“Do I hear a motion?”
Bud Collier roused himself from his nap. “The dog’s vicious. It’s a killer. I move we destroy it.”
Lucy snapped to attention, astonished. This was the last thing she had expected. In similar cases up until now the board had always voted to recommend a course of obedience training, perhaps followed with a probationary period. Collier’s habit of napping had obviously prevented him from getting the correct information, which happened all too frequently. Usually, however, the board members amended his motion if it seemed inappropriate. In fact, Lucy noticed, Sandy Dunlap and Joe Marzetti were looking rather pointedly at Pete Crowley, as if urging him to amend the motion.
“Do I hear a second?” snapped White.
Crowley nodded his head. “I second the motion.”
Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise as she hurried to scribble it all down in her notebook. The board usually followed Cathy Anderson’s recommendations, and she’d urged obedience training and neutering. She hadn’t even mentioned destroying the dog.
“You can’t do this!” shouted Nolan, jumping to his feet. In the front of the room, Ellie Martin was whispering frantically in Cathy’s ear.
“Could I add something?” asked Cathy as Ellie placed her hand on Nolan’s shoulder to restrain him. He got the message and sat back down, but his knee jumped as he nervously tapped his foot.
“Out of order,” said White, shaking his head. “Do we have any discussion?”
“I’ll start,” said Crowley. “The way I see it, a dog starts with chickens and the next thing you know he’s got a taste for blood and he’s after everything that moves. Nip it in the bud, before he attacks a little child. We can’t have this sort of thing going on in our town—predatory beasts going after our children.”
“I think we’re jumping the gun just a bit here,” said Marzetti. “This is the first time the dog’s come to the board’s attention, and let’s face it: We have plenty of dogs we see three or four times before we vote to have them destroyed. It’s always been a last resort. I think we should give the dog another chance. We don’t need to go around destroying people’s pets. I mean, the dog is his property, after all, and he’s got a right to it.”
Bravo, thought Lucy, wondering how she’d found herself agreeing with Marzetti’s conservative logic. On the margin of her notebook she jotted down 1:1. So far it looked as if the ayes and nays were tied.
Sandy Dunlap was next.
“I, of course, want to make sure that children are safe in our town, and I did see a special on 60 Minutes about dog bites. Did you know it’s the second major cause for emergency room visits in the United States for children?” Sandy Dunlap pursed her lips and nodded, making her blond curls bounce. “And of course, I have to agree with Mr. Crowley that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”
Lucy started to add a second stroke to the ayes.
“But we have no proof that Kadjo is really vicious. I mean, there’s a big difference between chickens and people. My old dog,
