Dog’s a Nonconformist--And That’s Not Nice in Irvine

Maybe if she were living someplace else, her fear would have faded, dissolved in that initial burst of laughter over the possibility of investigators taking paw prints and mutt shots, of watching them interrogate her miniature dachshund under a 100-watt light bulb, behind one-way glass, about the nature of the crime.

But my friend lives in Irvine. So she’s still worried. And, believe me, she has cause.

This is a city that has staked its integrity on the conformity of its residents, all of its residents. As far as Irvine’s concerned, you play by the rules or you go live in Stanton. And you take your dog too.

Oh, sure, Irvine tries to be nice about it. This is a very nice city, after all. This is the place that banned discrimination and chloroflurocarbons within city limits.

But when you think about it, those are pretty safe issues for the folks of Irvine. I mean, who would want to live next door to a bigot who’s stockpiling foam containers?

Now when it comes to animals, things get a bit trickier. The people of Irvine love animals. What could be more Irvinesque than the sight of a small child cuddling a kitten, or one of those living skeletons jogging through the greenbelt with his golden retriever--leashed, of course.

You know what they call their pound in Irvine? The Animal Care Center. And I can attest to the fact that it really is a very caring place, staffed by nice people.

There’s Lori, the humane educator, for example, and Carl, the animal services superintendent. They are there to educate and serve. Humanely.

The Animal Care Center even has two “get-acquainted rooms,” where as Carl explains it, prospective adoptive parents can bring in other family members to meet the prospective adoptee. Other family members, of course, include other pets.

And how’s this for nice? When I was waiting to talk to Carl the other day, a nice woman came to the center’s front counter to find out if the gray kitten she brought in had been adopted. It had.

The woman wanted to write the new owner a thank-you note, she was so pleased. But the center staff wouldn’t pass it on. Oh well, not so nice, but you can only carry this thing so far. . . .

So anyway, back to Piglet. That’s my friend’s miniature dachshund. A nice little thing, to be sure, but a nonconformer. You know how dachshunds can be.

But just think about that for a minute. How would you feel? All those dolts calling you a weenie dog, or Oscar Meyer, or any number of equally inventive names every time you went to do your business on the community greenbelt. Maybe you’d get the urge to snap back occasionally as well.

So that’s what Piglet did. She snapped. Went momentarily loca . She bit my friend’s 2-year-old son, Jeremy. Not a good thing to do in Irvine.

What happened was Piglet had taken to her rawhide with perhaps a bit too much gusto. Fact is, she was gnawing and growling and slobbering over the thing. Not so nice. But hey, she’s a dog. In Irvine.

Did I mention that?

Well, at any rate, everything was fine until Jeremy tries to find out what is so great about this rawhide. So he sticks his face next to Piglet’s gnashing teeth, and there the two met. Unhappily.

OK. This was unfortunate, but Jeremy’s fine after a quick trip to the hospital emergency room. For this his parents are grateful. But what of Piglet, the nonconformer?

As I write this, she is just about finished with the mandatory 10-day quarantine. State law. Never mind that the biter is confined in the same house with Jeremy, the victim. (Who seems to have forgotten the whole thing.)

None of these particulars really concern my friend. Piglet, for one thing, has been vaccinated. My friend even managed to laugh about the official rabies control information left at her house.

“Upon the death of a suspected animal, the head should be carefully removed, placed in plastic bag or newspapers, and delivered promptly to the Orange County Animal Shelter. . . .”

No, what concerns my friend are the implications of running afoul of the rules of peaceful coexistence in the city of Irvine. My friend likes her beige condo, virtually indistinguishable from her neighbors’ beige condos, in the city of Irvine.

And, OK, here’s the rub. Even my friend admits that Piglet is no angel. She fesses up to being a little concerned about the animal services officer coming to her home to investigate this biting business. She figured that her husband might voluntarily surrender Piglet to the authorities.

He has not, as of yet.

But my friend’s husband did tell her what the animal services officer, who was oh-so-very-nice about the whole thing, had to say about Piglet.

“We have her record,” the officer said.

So now my friend figures she had better come clean. You see, Piglet does have a prior. For barking, two years ago.

“But the neighbor who reported her said she only called because she was worried that something might be wrong at our house,” my friend says.

Now, see, wasn’t that nice?

This is Irvine, after all.