Canine Court Can Be a Matter of Life and Death

With all due respect to Judge Judy, her docket’s a snooze-fest compared to the life-and-death drama of this city’s canine court.

Cases here run to lunging guard dogs, snapping lap dogs, brandished guns and bloody attacks. Sentences start at polite scoldings for a minor offense and top out at euthanasia for vicious and dangerous dogs.

With San Francisco still aghast at the fatal mauling of Diane Whipple by her neighbors’ two ferocious dogs earlier this year, the Vicious and Dangerous Dog Court plays an important role. Victims find a safe forum to air their grievances, while people with troublesome dogs get help with their errant pets.

“Things have really picked up since the Diane Whipple case,” said San Francisco Police Sgt. William Herndon, the dog court’s hearing officer.

“People are much more vigilant about reporting incidents; we’re seeing between two and four cases every week,” an increase from a period when weeks would go by with no hearings at all.

In this pet-loving city named for the patron saint of animals, dogs hold a special place. The nation’s first Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals was founded here 133 years ago. In 1994, it became one of the nation’s only big-city shelters to adopt a no-kill policy.

An estimated 120,000 dogs share the city’s streets and homes; that’s about one dog for every six residents.

Across the bay, The Bark, a dog-centric literary magazine whose contributors include Amy Tan and Armistead Maupin, counsels local dog owners on creating leash-free parks and planning pet-friendly vacations. Little wonder, then, that San Franciscans take dog court seriously.

The road to Herndon’s courtroom starts with the city’s Department of Animal Care and Control or Department of Health, which get reports of vicious or dangerous dogs. Legitimate beefs wind up in Room 408, a stately wood-paneled chamber in the recently refurbished City Hall.

Both sides testify. Victims often bring gory photos, incriminating videotapes and extensive medical records. Defendants offer photos of the accused in happier times: playing with a child or napping with a kitten. Both sides bring character witnesses.

On a recent Thursday afternoon, cases included a 30-pound cockapoo named Hughie accused of a bite that took six stitches to sew up, a pit bull named Chaos who punctured a collie’s windpipe in an unprovoked attack, and a bulldog named Spike who broke into a neighbor’s yard and frightened the family.

Herndon, a seven-year veteran of dog court, is a dog owner himself. He breaks into a wide grin when describing his canine companions, Bart and Lisa. In his courtroom, the defendant is innocent even when proven guilty.

“There are no bad dogs, just bad owners,” Herndon said. “Dog owners can be careless, they can be forgetful and, in some cases, cruel. The truth is, each dog’s behavior reflects on the owner more than on the dog.”

His rulings carry the force of state and city law. Herndon can order a stint in obedience class, call for a vicious dog evaluation, require certain dogs to be muzzled in public, force owners to post “vicious dog” signs on their homes, require canines to be neutered, and ban people from owning a dog in the city for three years.

In the Whipple case, for example, Bane, the male dog involved in the mauling, was immediately destroyed. The female dog, Hera, also ordered destroyed, is being kept alive as evidence. (The district attorney filed criminal charges against the dogs’ two owners, who are awaiting trial.)

Rulings based on city statutes like leash laws cannot be appealed. Appeals of decisions based in state law, like ownership bans and some euthanasia cases, are heard in Superior Court.

In about 20% of the cases, Herndon orders the dog destroyed. It’s a painful decision for a pet lover, but his mandate to keep the city safe leaves him no choice.

“There is no rejoicing in having an animal killed,” Herndon said. “The dog is paying the price of the owner.”

And such owners.

Cases include a convicted drug dealer who locked an animal control officer in a kennel, then busted his dog out of the pound. (The man wound up in jail.) Another, irate at being accused, showed up with his pistol-packing posse.

Their dogs, with names like Manson, Adolph and Menace, offer insight into why they acquired their pets.

“We had a Jack Russell terrier--that dog was such a menace--who would slip into open doors and chase people around their own kitchens,” Herndon said. “His name was Satan’s Little Helper.”

“No one thinks they have a mean dog, so things can get tense,” said Officer John Denny, Herndon’s partner. “No matter what the dog did, the owners have an excuse; it’s never the dog’s fault.”