Dog Tags by David Rosenfelt Page A

the ability to answer. The bailiff
     signals the arrival of Judge Catchings, which forces a bewildered and irritated Eli back to the prosecution table.
    Judge Horace Catchings takes his seat behind the bench, whichhe has been doing for thirty-two years. The first African-American judge in Passaic County, Judge Catchings stands six foot
     six, and his frame looms out over the courthouse. It seems as if he can reach out and touch the principals in the room. Baseball
     hitters might describe the experience of facing tall pitchers like Randy Johnson in much the same way. Judge Catchings can’t
     throw the curveball, but he has a wicked contempt of court.
    The judge has already agreed that I can call witnesses to support my case, but that my presentation is to take no more than
     two hours. I pretended that it would be difficult to stay within that time frame, though in reality I couldn’t stretch it
     that long if I included a rendition of “MacArthur Park.”
    I have avoided notifying the press about today’s hearing, mainly because I used them as a threat to get the judge to allow
     it in the first place. While they may be valuable to me later, bringing them in now would only risk pissing Catchings off,
     and since there is no jury, that wouldn’t be wise.
    Willie Miller is next to me, sitting in his seat and looking around as if he were at a Broadway theater. “This is really cool,”
     he says. Kevin’s courtroom comments, as I recall, were generally more helpful.
    Eddie Lynch is not here. I didn’t think it necessary that he come, and he seemed to show no great desire to do so. But I will
     be relying on his brief to a considerable degree.
    Judge Catchings welcomes us to his courtroom and admonishes us not to be long-winded. He also asks us if we have anything
     to say before we begin.
    Eli stands and says, “Your Honor, while we have not had much time to prepare on this issue, and it is unique to say the least,
     I cannot find in any statute any right to bail for an animal.”
    “That may be true,” the judge says. “The way I look at it is that we are here to decide if the continuing confinement of the
     dog known as Milo is warranted. As Mr. Carpenter’s brief points out, there areany number of ways that his release could be handled legally. Bail is simply one of them.”
    That is already a small victory for me. Now I just have to show that Milo shouldn’t be kept captive; I don’t have to jump
     through quite as many legal hoops as I anticipated to manage it.
    I nod my thanks to Judge Catchings and say, “Your Honor, the defense calls Thomas Basilio.”
    Thomas Basilio is the forty-one-year-old head of animal control in Passaic County. It is not a coveted position; dogcatchers
     are not exactly widely loved in most communities, and he is the king of the catchers. Because of the overwhelming number of
     unwanted dogs, it means that his department must euthanize a good number of them. It’s not a position I’d want to be in.
    I have spent some time socially with Basilio, and he’s a decent guy with a disarming sense of humor. He’s not going to get
     a chance to use it today.
    “Mr. Basilio, you are aware that you have a German shepherd named Milo in your custody?”
    “Yes.”
    “He’s at the shelter in Paterson?”
    “Yes.”
    “How did he come to be incarcerated there?”
    “The police turned him over to us.”
    “Why? What did he do wrong?
    “I don’t know that he did anything wrong. They didn’t share that with me.”
    “Are you aware that they have stationed a guard outside his cage twenty-four hours a day?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did they tell you why?”
    He shakes his head. “No. I asked, but they said it had to do with a case and was confidential.”
    “Under what circumstances do you keep dogs in the shelters?” I ask.
    “There can be a few reasons. Dogs can be found stray, and we hold them until perhaps their owner can find them. If not, we
     hope they will be adopted by a new