Tomorrow marks 6 months since my dog Rufus got mauled by our neighbor’s akita. I haven’t written about our previous court appearances because the first was actually too awesomely bizarre for words, and I had to miss the second one to pick up my wife, who was working late that evening. The third meeting was tonight.
Rather than go to trial, the prosecutor wanted to go to restitution during our first meeting in July. The “negotiations” were pretty contentious, especially when the wife of the akita’s owner got involved. Her argument went that, since her broke-ass, unemployed husband wasn’t going to pay this debt, she should get in on things. She also tried to argue that their akita was “defending the property,” because Rufus stepped over their curb to take a pee. The prosecutor was having none of it, and the owner eventually agreed to pay back the full $2,000 I’d incurred in veterinary bills and supplies. Since he was unemployed, he agreed to pay me back over six months. When the prosecutor performed the act of division to explain how much that came out to a month, he decided he would pay me back over 10 months, in $200 installments.
We agreed that this sounded good, and put off the case for two months, at which point we’d meet again at municipal court and review the status. That second meeting is the one I had to miss, but the akita-owner did come through with a pair of $200 payments during that time, so I figured everything was working out okay. After all, did he really want this to go to trial, incur lawyer’s fees, and possibly get blown up by the judge?
Apparently, he did. He never made a payment in October, nor did he leave me a note apologizing or otherwise explaining what was up.
He put a check in my mailbox the day I got back from LA last week, but it was only for $100. I figured he was setting himself up for some sort of “Look, I’m trying, okay? I’m unemployed, and I’m doing everything I can! I gotta buy my kids Christmas presents!” approach. I wasn’t sure how I was going to deal with that in tonight’s court appearance; it’d be one thing to just say, “He hasn’t paid in 2 months, let’s go blow him up,” but at least he was trying to make some sort of effort.
Then I tried to deposit his $100 check. It was drawn on the bank down the street, where I have an account. I walked in with the check and a deposit slip and said, “I’d like to deposit this, but I have reason to suspect that it’s going to bounce. Can you check the accont it’s drawn on for me?”
The clerk punched in the code, looked at the screen, frowned, and said, “No good.”
“He doesn’t have a hundred dollars in the bank?”
“Not in this account.”
“Wow.” I filled her in on the backstory a little, and she was aghast. She told me that she’d owned two akitas for 25 years, and they were good, as long as you trained them right.
“That said, when my female was getting older, she started to get irritable and she did bite my son on the face,” she commented.
So, recharged in my rage, I headed to court this afternoon. I was all ready with my “Do I LOOK like a motherfucking collections agency?!” line.
It was around a 2-hour wait to meet with the prosecutor, but I passed the time talking with my neighbor Bob, whose dog was also attacked by the akita, 3 weeks before the attack on Rufus. His vet bills came out to $400, and he forgave the akita’s owner half the debt, after he made the first payment. Still, he was on the service list for the case, and wanted to see how things developed.
The prosecutor remembered our case from the summer. “Oh, yes. His wife got involved. That was . . . a point of contention,” he said, diplomatically.
We recounted where things stood at present. He asked if the owner had shown up. I said that we hadn’t seen him, and he asked a policeman to go out the courthouse and check for him. No sign.
“Now what do we do?” I asked him.
“Now we go to trial,” he told me, filling out a slip for the judge. He asked me to go to the courtroom, wait for this case to be declared, and answer the judge’s questions. I spent a half-hour or so watching a procession of speeders, drunk drivers, improper shed-builders (?) and a guy in orange jumpsuit and shackles. When our case was called, they once again tried to find the akita owner, but he was a no-show. The judge asked how much the man owes me, and told me that I’d be added to the service list and would be notified of the trial date.
So that’s the skinny. My neighbor — 3 doors away but far enough that I don’t see him regularly — is $1,600 in the hole, and may have to cover court costs and other damages, depending on the judge’s mood. I’ve gotta blow another evening sometime for that. On the plus side, I think the court can go after his money for me. I mean, do I LOOK like a motherfucking collections agency?!
(Oh, and Ru is just fine. He made a great recovery.)
, by Bill Simmons, 
, by Ralph Rosenblum, and that bio of 
, which I’ll give some more time into this fall.
, and the much better new 
.
, 
, a little of 
, and a bunch of football.
