Free Never Say Sty by Linda O. Johnston Page B

was once again crying her heart out or at least the wife had.

    The same neighbors, a childless couple, had previously called some fortunately overworked and underinterested authorities who’d declined to enforce a countywide ordinance against inordinate barking. Then, they threatened to sue for damages for diminishment of property value and emotional distress. They’d told Tomas that they’d have their lawyer file the complaint soon unless Princess shut up, pronto.

    The Jeongs adored their Princess. Hated that she was so distressed when they were away from home that she shrieked, not barked—even when they were in town. Also hated the idea that they might have to pay a whole lot of money if there was a lawsuit. They’d already tried a few avenues of canine training and psychology, but so far nothing had helped. Could I do something legally to attempt to appease their neighbors, at least till they got home from their two-week trip?

    Sounded partly like a pet-sitting problem . . . maybe. But hopefully, since I both lawyered and pet-sat, I could help.

    In any event, I needed to see the situation for myself. I headed my rental car in the direction of where the Jeongs lived—west of L.A. along the 101 Freeway, near Thousand Oaks. I located their address and parked on the street. It was a nice, relatively new development, and the house was large and modern. Its windows were arched, its roof, of brown tiles, over a beige, multilevel structure with a jutting entrance.

    When I rolled down my car window, I heard what the neighbors complained about. A shrill, sad cry like an animal in pain emanated from the Jeong home. I exited my vehicle and strode toward the sound. The yard had a nice, green lawn in front, a short driveway at the side, a two-car garage, and a tall gray fence at the rear. The cries came from the backyard.

    “Princess?” I called, but the cries continued. I raised my voice. “Princess!” She must have heard me then, since she quieted momentarily. I half expected her to bolt toward the front of the fence, since surely she was loose in the yard, judging by the volume of her wails. But I didn’t see her.

    I called the house’s phone number but got no response. I also saw no sign that the house-sitter was home. I tried her cell but got voice mail. No assistance there—at least not now. But I’d at least seen the lay of the land.

    And heard the pitiful wail of the poor, lonesome pup. I wished I could get into the yard and give her a huge hug.

    The crying started again, and a neighbor’s door opened. A woman, maybe mid-forties, clad in jeans and a loose gray T-shirt, glared as if I was the source of the sound. “Isn’t that awful? Those people have no regard for anyone. That dog is so pitiful. It should be taken away from them.”

    This had to be one of the complaining neighbors—presumably the wife. I couldn’t talk to her, thanks to legal ethics, since I believed she was represented by counsel. But I absolutely disagreed with all she said. The Jeongs cared a lot about Princess. That’s why I was there. So, I simply shrugged and gave a half-friendly smile. “You’ll be fine, Princess,” I called. “I promise.” Which amazingly caused the crying to stop. And earned the neighbor’s quizzical look along with her irritated glare.

    I remained where I was a few more minutes, but Princess kept her sorrow to herself. The neighbor disappeared back into her house. All was calm, at least for now.

    Maybe Princess’s plight could be eased by hiring someone to stand outside and call her name. Or finding a house-sitter who’d be utterly housebound, since apparently Princess cried every time no one was home.

    Impractical? Probably. But at a minimum, I could let my mind churn on these and other ideas for animal dispute resolution in this sad case. And right now, I could head home to reclaim my own little Lexie from her day at play.

     
     
    AS I CHUGGED toward the freeway, I noticed an auto mall I