Have you ever had one of those times you wished you had a camera in your hand because a Pulitzer prize winning photo has just surprised you? It happened to me this morning as I looked out my window to see if the paper had arrived. Across the street was a long skinny wire cage with a white bowl full of food on one end and a trap door on the other end -- a cage for catching dogs. Inside the trap was a very unhappy cat. Outside the trap was one very happy stray dog.

It all started long before I moved to this neighborhood. The nice old white and brown dappled hound just moved in one day in the way that strange dogs always arrive -- fresh from the UFO with a mysterious air and a resolution never to talk about it. Someone started feeding him and he took the hint -- he stayed.

There is an ancient compact between man and dog. Man feeds the dog and the dog, in turn, is companion to the man. This new dog had never heard of that compact. In fact, I suspect he was raised by cats. The neighbors gave him food and he, in turn, ignored them. If anyone even looked crosswise at him, he up and moved away with a look of reproach.

"Why did you do that?" he would say with his eyes, "here I was enjoying this sunny spot and you had to look at me like you might come pay attention to me. Now I have to move somewhere else."

No amount of blandishment or bribery would get the dog to submit to human companionship. Dog bones, dog treats, earnest pleas of fealty all fell into the dust of his departure. Like Garbo, he just wanted to be left alone. He got the food he needed, the water he needed, and lots of quiet time. It would have been a perfect existence if there had not existed something else -- the leash law.

Now, there are very good reasons for the leash law. Dogs that run around being dogs can be a nuisance to people who prefer cats. Some people don't like their flower beds being rearranged, their paper being chewed, or their yards getting extra fertilizer so some of those people went down to city hall to do something about it. The people down at city hall were only happy to oblige by writing a few laws that dogs can't read. And besides, dogs don't vote.

My across the street neighbor complained about the dog. The wheels of dog justice dispatched a man in an important looking truck to bring the perpetrator to heel. The man quickly discovered that whatever he had to catch dogs was useless in this case. It is next to impossible to catch a dog that disappears as soon as you look at him. After a few days, the animal control office admitted that they were beaten and withdrew. The neighborhood stray returned to his rounds and to show that there were no hard feelings, he started to spend most of his time sleeping in the front yard of the person who had called in the pound on him.

That was the state of things when I moved into the quiet little home on the quietest part of the neighborhood. A nice dog who ran at the sight of you was hardly a worry until a few weeks ago. That is when the trouble started with the newspapers. He started chewing on them. Not a bad chewing, really, just a knaw around the edges. Then one Sunday morning my paper was hopelessly chewed. The culprit was in the sunshine across the street and I shook my fist at him.

"You leave my paper alone, you hear?" I shouted at him. And then he was gone.

This must have made a real impression on him. To make amends, he began bringing me extra papers. I would get a chewed paper and its replacement on my lawn several mornings a week. I didn't bother to call the Animal Control office. They had been spayed and neutered by the ASPCA a long time ago. Back in the bad old days all that was needed was a squirrel rifle, some 22 longs, and a good eye to bring dog peace to a neighborhood. Now, they could only stare at the spot that the dog used to be sitting before they arrived and wish they were on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom with a big hypodermic needle gun, helicopters, land rovers, walkie talkies, and trusty old Jim to wrestle the brute to the ground while some native attached a yellow tag to its ear.

When the trap appeared, I had to laugh at it. They expected this survivor, this scofflaw to stupidly amble into a cage to eat some food while the trap fell in behind him? Well, he didn't oblige them. He ignored the contraption until this morning when curiosity trapped the cat. This was too good to pass up. He took up his old station and watched the dumb cat stew in the cage while he soaked up sun and relished the irony.

This tableau lasted until my other across the street neighbor woke up. The impotent animal control people were called in and they sent out a fairly young man who dutifully gave chase. He and the dog quickly ran out of sight. He must have been a very diligent young man because he was gone for quite some time. Maybe he was chasing the dog or maybe he was just sitting in an azelia bush making up some good excuses. At any rate, when he returned, he was empty handed.

We've all seen this movie plenty of times. Somehow, I doubt that good King Richard is going to make it back from the Crusades in time to save this dog or that the cavalry is going to arrive or that the UFO is going to just sweep him away to another neighborhood. Still, I'm pulling for him. That is, until he chews my paper again. . .

© Copyright 1997, Merrill Guice, All Rights Reserved