The Dog Run

Alice Johnson

Word Count 1844

I woke up that morning agitated, angry. I needed to run far and fast.

I pulled on a pair of ugly lavender running shorts and a tiny tee top. I would heat up during the run, no need for added layers. I grabbed the leash and Sadie, my black lab, and headed for the park.

We ran down the treed parkway, watching for roots that could take you down. My breathing started out heavy then slowed as I fell into a steady pace. The dog ran obediently by my side.

I had been a mess for weeks. A business started two years earlier with my brother and his wife was now completely in their hands and I felt as if I lost a part of me. I had definitely lost them. After working so hard to build it up, just when it was on the verge of taking off, they changed the locks and I was out. It had been a tough go: cash flow and partner management issues and just generally not getting along. But I never thought they would take it from me, my business, my baby, but they had. And legally, with their 60% ownership, they could. Breathe.

We entered City Park, a jewel of Denver. Trees were just starting to bloom. A beautiful day, quiet and no one around. Sadie began to pull on the lead, wanting to run free. I reached down and unleashed her. I liked to run faster than the dog, and she always came on command. My best girl. In 1986 dogs often ran off leash, but it was not legal. I slowed my pace and began to relax. “It’s going to be OK,” I said to myself, “I’ll get through this.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white van pull off the road onto the grass and steer toward me. It took me a few seconds to register that they were headed straight for my dog.

I called Sadie. She came. I leashed her up and we continued to run, at a faster pace, away from the van. The van raced toward us and pulled to a stop in front of us. I stopped. The dog stopped. Two young men jumped from the van, one holding a rope. The dog catchers.

“Leave us alone,” I shouted. “My dog is under control and on the leash. Find something better to do.” They came closer. The moment escalated. I was broke, a $75 off-leash ticket was a big hit, and I was now furious. “Give us your dog,” one of them said. “NO. DO NOT TAKE MY DOG. GO HARASS SOMEONE ELSE. MY DOG IS ON-HER-LEASH. LEAVE US ALONE,” I screamed. One of the men stepped forward and grabbed Sadie’s collar. I pulled her back. He then yanked her away from me. The other man was on his walkie talkie. He was talking fast. Loud. “We have a situation.”

I froze. I knew those words. “Listen,” I suddenly begged, voice lowered. “Just write the ticket. It’s all fine, really. I know that she was off leash and that is not allowed. Please write the ticket.”

In seconds a police car pulled up, lights on, and an officer emerged from the car. He nodded to the two catchers, walked straight up to me, chest out and said, “I need to see some identification.” I looked down at my ugly shorts, totally in disbelief at the request, and said “I have none”. He grabbed my arm, pulled me over to the cop car and slammed me face down on the hood. He handcuffed me tightly, efficiently, and put me in the front seat of the car.

A rope was put around Sadie’s neck and she was put in the back of the white van.

You can’t lean back and get comfortable in a police car, especially when your hands are cuffed behind your back. Shit.

I was not unfamiliar with police or city workers. I had worked as a public health nurse a few years before, in a dangerous part of town just west of the park. I relied on the police many times to keep me and others safe. I knew the lay of the land, or I thought I did. What was happening here? This man in full control, authority, cuffing me and taking me somewhere. Where?

I asked the cop why he arrested me. “Because you did not have identification,” he said. “I’m taking you to jail.”

I became very quiet, knowing full well what power this man held.

At the jail, I was booked. Mug shot, fingerprints and all. I had one call that I could make. Sitting at a small school desk tucked in the corner of the booking room, I called my lawyer. I officially had a lawyer now that the 60% partners were negotiating for 100% ownership. “You are in jail?” he asked in disbelief. “Yes.” “Did you hurt your brother?” “No,” I said. “I just went for a run in the park.” ”I’m going to put you on hold and make a call.” After a few minutes he came back on the line.

“You need to plead ‘not guilty’ at the arraignment tonight,” he said. “Tonight?” I asked, the big clock on the wall read noon. “How can they hold me for not having any identification?”

He paused. “ It appears that you are being charged with assaulting a dog catcher. It’s a felony.”

I held my breath for a moment and slowly let it out. Stunned.

I was escorted by a female guard to the ‘holding area’- a large jail cell with benches on three sides and small barred windows above. Scattered around the cell room, and sitting quietly on the benches, were about twelve female prisoners. The guard unlocked the door to the cell, and I walked in.

The room was dead silent. All faces lifted to check out the new inmate. I was very conscious of my outfit and how out-of-place we were. I scanned the faces: there was a reasonably good chance that I would know a few of these women from my nursing days.

I took a seat on a wooden bench. One prisoner decided there was a story here, especially after taking in my shorts. “So,” she mused, “what are you in for?” “Assault.” I responded, surprised at how easily the word came out and how at-ease I was with this woman. “Are you f--king kidding me?” she snorted. “What, you hit your boyfriend?” “No, I supposedly assaulted a dog catcher.” “What the…” Suddenly, the ice was broken in the silent group and all the women were staring at me, trying to understand what I just said.

“Are you f--king serious?” the lead interrogator asked. “Yes,” I answered. “I was running in the park and my dog was off leash and they arrested me and charged me with assault.”

 “Now that is some bullshit story, dog lady.” The group lightened up, amused.

We spent the next hour getting to know each other. The lead investigator was in for forgery, another for prostitution. One woman was arrested for possession, also in City Park. She had a glassy look about her.

“Speaking of dogs,” one woman suddenly shouted. “I’m going to be in a shit-load of trouble when I get out. I was taking care of 10 pits and no one knows I am in here.” We were all quiet, contemplating that dilemma. We all knew these were not pets. I, for one, wanted to give her a second phone call.

The rest of the day was strange and uneventful. We were taken out of the cell and given a bland, mushy lunch. The only utensil was a large metal tablespoon. After lunch, we were placed in solitary confinement, which struck me as odd except that each jail cell had a toilet and maybe it was easier on the staff, not having to attend to us personally if we had to pee.

I sat on the cold metal bed absolutely freezing, and waited the day out. I used the metal toilet which faced out to the hall. I had never been in such a situation. Never, certainly in jail.

The women continued to talk to each other from their separate cells, but the conversations were muted as the day wore on. I was officially the ‘dog lady’. I was empty. Like all of the air had been let out of a huge balloon. I was embarrassed by my situation, my fury. I wondered how I had acted to be charged with assault. Did I strike the catcher? I was worried about my dog. I had an overwhelming sense of sadness and loss.

Quite late in the evening, (I guess we had just one meal allocated), we were walked across the street from the jail to the County Building for the arraignment hearings. Straight line, hands in cuffs behind.

The large courtroom held a glass enclosed space for the prisoners to sit, fish-bowl like. The male prisoners were seated in the front rows, females behind. The guests, I suppose you would call them, sat on benched rows to the right of the prisoners and the judge sat high above, overlooking the crowd.

The male prisoners were led to the front of the room for individual pleas. I looked to the guests searching for my boyfriend or my lawyer, anyone who would spring me from this joint. No familiar face.

The judge called my name. I walked down the middle aisle of the large room, all eyes on me and my apparel. “Miss Johnson,“ the judge said. “You are being charged with assaulting a dog catcher. How do you plead?”

The room exploded with laughter. One of my cell mates yelled out, “You go girl. You go dog lady.”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

I was bailed out of jail that night. I bailed Sadie out of the pound the following morning. She was such a pathetic sight: head bowed as if she had done something wrong. She did not leave my side for days.

 I attended my court date with my attorney and was well dressed. The police report stated that ‘the thumb of the dog catcher had been scratched and it bled’. It was the leash struggle. Assault.

The judge was appalled by the charges. “No way to run a city!”

Case dismissed. Record expunged.

I have told this story many times over the years, not focusing on the injustice, but instead, with a humorous bent: “I was in jail once- you won’t believe what happened.” Listeners are stunned.

I don’t talk much about the events that precipitated the jailing, although I do discuss the business break-up: “I had a family business once that became hugely successful without me.”

I rarely talk about the intense anger I felt, and obviously showed that day. The range of emotions- rage, loss, sadness. I’m still working on that part.

I run and I’m OK.

And I always walk my dog on a leash. Well, most of the time.

Alice is recently retired from a long career in health care. Always a story- teller, she is now putting her stories to paper, one key stroke at a time. Her essays have been published in The Denver Post, The American Journal of Nursing-Reflections and in the upcoming winter edition of Great Lakes Scuttlebutt. Alice lives in Littleton, Colorado with her husband and yellow lab Cassie.