And today, I will let you in on a little secret I'm going to call the Secret to Life.

Richard Todd took this, not me.

That sounds like a big secret.

Even when stuff is going pretty crappy, try to find a way to stay happy. Can you just keep shuffling forward? Slow is ok.

You are at the beach. The sun is going down. There might be a lot of crummy doings going on during other parts of life, but this part is looking all right and it's low tide. A Ranger shows up, and maybe it is even Officer Walters. Who walks like a lumpy, lumbering ape. You just down all the dogs, clip them up on leashes, and sit your butt in the wet sand and watch the sun as it drops down, like a runny yet somewhat firm egg yolk dropping into blue, gummy plastic but is actually a sea. You don't look at the Ranger. You just sit and stare and maybe count to 10 a couple times and think, it's ok. No one is about to amputate my leg with a chainsaw. I have a house and the internet and teeth and all my dogs are the best ones.

Then when the Ranger finally leaves, and you sit there a while longer, and you are not even that mad you have a totally wet, sandy ass. Things, they could be worse.

None of my dogs ever chases their own tails.

I'm going to end 2008 with a tale of yesterday's walk in the field. Like so many tales told all through this year. My last walk in Lighthouse Field for this Esteemed Year of 2008. Was a basic, quick morning walk before running off to work. Nice day just starting on West Cliff, sun was up and ocean so clear, walking into the sun. Decided to just skirt across the edge of the field on the way back, not even walking through it, exactly. The far edge, acre 32.9 of 33 of them. Along the fence where the boxy apartments are, with hula Christmas tinsel dangling off balconies in the breeze. As far from a ranger truck as you can possibly be. A tiny bit of freedom for a tiny run, then back on leashes to dash home through the neighborhood.

Had 'em off, dogs started to run a little, this way and that, only running they may have all day, when I see it. The truck. My nemesis, my albatross, the big white whale that follows me around instead of me chasing it. Why does it know when I'm there? I have a split second to decide, grab the dogs and leash 'em up or just keep going into certain ticketdom once again.

Call everyone in. Off yer leash, on yer leash. Ruby already right there, Otterpop comes right in, Gustavo meanders about and is farthest out and I crouch down and call for my good buddy and he comes running in and clip on his dirty, red leash.

So then, what to do? Make a run for it the way I came in, back towards the sea that's so glary and sparkly in my eyes that I have to squint to look that way, which, by the way, adds tiny little crows feet to your eyes and you are not supposed to squint if you are wanting to keep nice complected and away from the knife? Keep going the way we were headed, due North, the way to my house? Sit there and have a smoke and wait for that truck to just roll it's wide tires on up to me? That one would have been the obvious choice for dramatic flair, but being I don't smoke, and being I'm already running late-ish for work, it's head up and out we go towards National Street. The streets in the neighborhood are named for civic pride and noble American ideals. We could also walk up Liberty or Columbia. Decide perhaps best to make a run for it, in my jogger disguise of clogs and a big coat and jeans that are far too tight already thank you See's candy debacle of the previous weeks.

I'm running and I feel like I'm about to tear up all weepy face because I'm running like a criminal with a truck coming after me and I'm just trying to walk my dogs. Is that being a big fat baby with no other life than walking these dogs, some kind of hormone imbalance like everyone says is coming now that you're OVER FORTY, or just this moment of pure frustrated hatefulness of things not working like I want? And I get mad and I just start brisk walking instead and my head is up and I walk fast and I can hear it behind me coming up closer. I don't turn around, not once and I plan, then and there, to lie. I plan ahead and my plan is that I am going to look the ranger dead in the eye and lie that I ever had them off their leashes and that's my plan since now I've turned into a liar.

I keep going towards the street with civic pride name and I'm still not looking back. All I hear are rolling tires that make a quiet, rolling crunching noise on the sandy path and I step out of the park and into the street and then across the street and set foot on the sidewalk and I can hear it's not behind me anymore. It's paused at the edge of the field, where the sidewalk starts, idling by the sign that has the little stick man walking his great big stick dog on a stiff piece of string. I don't look back and I just keep walking along.

Walking up the sidewalk of National Street, I think, that's it. I guess that's the last time we walk out there in the year of 2008 and that's how it went and usually I'm not a big one for things must mean something else but then and there, I think they do. Not that 2008 was an all bad year. It's just a year and all of them, they have their ups and downs. Like a stapler, you know? Goes up and goes down and sometimes holds the paper together just like you wanted and sometimes sends a staple straight through your finger then off to the emergency room you go. Sometimes the damn thing doesn't work and sometimes you can't even find it. But it's still just a stapler.

Hey. At least I'm not giving you a Top 10 movie list. Top 10 goals for agility. Top 10 ways to influence Oprah into handing you the keys to her still standing Montecito estate. A stapler. Never said I knew how to philosophize.

This was a year where a lot of things went lost. That happens sometimes, happens to us all. Something about being chased out of the field by a truck, just makes me think about it while I'm walking by the houses I see every day. Lost Timmy. Jane. Lighthouse Field. A lot of lost happening elsewhere, in bigger pictures far wider than my little view. Lots of my friends, had their losts this year. And how do you handle it? You get mad. You compress into a shrinky ball of depressed. You fight or lay down or rollover on your back, or you can just try to keep going some other, new kind of way that you didn't know about yet. Something else that might be bigger or might be shinier and might be just so different that you didn't think to try it before.

Don't know how long that truck sat there. Don't know where it went. Never looked back to see. Just looked up and ahead and towards where we're going and I have all my dogs here and we just keep going, through the squirrels and under the trees, trying to stay in the sun and just keep on walking.

Christmas road trip day 1, a great day if great is sitting in a car jammed in a plastic box.

Dogs can be smart about the way they travel, or completely dumb. Ruby and Otterpop, super rocket scientists of travel. They get in their blue plastic crate in the back of the car, surrounded by Christmas gifts that they may have slobbered on during the wrapping of, and go to sleep. They have special dog ESP which does alert them to places that are nice places for dogs on the way to LA.

Not all dogs so smart about traveling. Gustavo, with his own private crate, newly renovated with a squishy blanket and taller roof, complains the whole way. Only does this when Gary is in the car. Sticks his nose out the metal cage door, hangs his upper lip over the wire mesh, and rolls his eyes back with his little guilty stink eye. Doesn't roll up and go to sleep, waiting for an ESP alert a beach or muddy field coming up. Stares whole way. Whines sometimes, until I out rocket scientisted everyone and thought to bring the most dreaded thing of all things in the car. Squirter bottle. One look from squirter bottle and there is no whining, just lip hanging and little white rolling eye pleading to make the car trip over. Or at least allow him to run free in the car dashing fore and aft and up and down while car rolling down the 101. As if.

But we try to make it enjoyable. First nice place for dogs, the McDonald's in Paso Robles. It's a faux diner-style McDonald's, bright white tile and a giant yellow arch. Bestedly, has an indoor bathroom for humans and is conveniently located next to a big muddy truck parking lot which is a nice place for dogs to run around for a few minutes. Look at giant semi truck cabs with sleeping guys in them. Good things dogs are good dogs. Because I lost my voice completely a couple days ago, and only way I can communicate with them is through a series of whistles and arm waving. Wave arms like this, good dogs. Wave arms like that, bad dogs. I know, you couldn't even tell because my TYPING IS EXACTLY THE SAME! Voice or no voice. Smart dogs climb right back in their boxes and go to sleep until next ESP alert.

Which is freakedly weird, how dogs can just KNOW that a freeway turn off is going to lead to a beach-Hendry's beach in Santa Barbara. We love Santa Barbara. If you took Santa Cruz and made it fancier and richer and more republican and made matching Patagnonia outfits mandatory uniforms and added 50% more palm trees, it would be Santa Barbara. And more warm. On a freezing cold day there, everyone still in flip flops and shorts. Hendry's is Santa Barbara's more improved equivalent of Lighthouse Field. They both have special names-Lighthouse Field Beach, real name Its. Hendry's, real name Arroyo Burro. Lighthouse Field has 33 acre field with rangers and dead trees, Hendry's has 77 acres of the bluffs above it, no rangers and dogs can run around in that mud and dead trees. Nice long beach, nice place for dogs when they're on a road trip. Same dead birds laying around, same sticks available, same assortment of big dogs chasing tennis balls. Smile and wave at well dressed dog walkers. Who ask me questions about my dogs and are answered with weird sign language and back away slowly.

Big difference of Hendry's vs. Its, nice sign at bottom of beach saying dogs off leash, go this way, on leash, other way. It is legal to run your dogs around here. Thanks Santa Barbara. I bet even Oprah comes down here. Or at least her dogs. The nice ones.

Ruby and Otterpop, sleep thru the new idea I had. Christmas music marathon. How much Christmas music can my friend Ipod hold and how far does it last driving to LA? Answer, probably all the way to Mexico except around Ventura I have total Christmas music meltdown and yank ipod from it's plug. Not my friend anymore. Will never, ever listen to another Christmas song again. Gustavo, magically quiet. Gary, so happy. Not sure what happened. Was the Kinks, singing about beating up Father Christmas, then all of a sudden some kind of Nutcrackery Peanuts Snoopy piano song and something snapped. Everybody nice and silent as we follow the non holiday, yet still festive in a rush hour kind of way, procession of lights through the Valley and down to the 405.

How's the field feeling?

So people keep asking, do I still go to Lighthouse Field, even after the whole court thing?

As a matter of fact, was out there yesterday morning. Seemed like a safe bet, was raining, no one should be out there, right? Go let the dogs run around in the rain, like we always do when it rains. Always did. Wet and unpleasant and cold and muddy and usually, no one else there except for maybe one other nutcase, parka all a-flap, and their dogs. The team speeds through the grass, over the logs, through the bushes and across the mudhole ponds. While I try to keep my feet out of giant puddles and mud patches. Greased up with silty rain water, black dogs look like little missiles with nothing to hit, just sizzling around and around until I call them in. Plenty of room for dogs to get some speed out there and do some running when everybody else stays inside.

Everybody else except a Ranger. In the rain, that would be my friend, driving around a giant white 4wd truck. Slow driving, lights on. Big, heavy, foilage crunching tires. On their new truck roads where there used to be meadows. Maybe looking for campers. Maybe looking for dogs. Whatever they are getting paid to look for, spend a lot of time doing it. The sight of that behemoth vehicle, rolling my way, sends big icy stab of hate through me for the place I used to cross my heart hope to die Love. My whole reason for living where I do. Yeah, I can still go down to the beach, when there is one. Winter tides sometimes leave no beach for months on end. Rangers staying out of our hair there. But the field. This 33 acres of dead grass and bushes and old fallen cypress that I know so well, from visiting every single day, no more. Unless I want to blatantly get my behind another ticket.

Sitting next to a lying cop in court seems to have changed my perspective on walking around out there all ballsy and blatant. Don't want to go through that whole "I am a Crimnal" thing again if I don't have to. Some kind of activist I turned out to be. I just want to let my dogs run around and get tired and wet before having to spend the day huddled together in a plastic box on a cold and rainy deck watching me walk by with muddy horses and listening to my shreiky voice holler on and on about outside rein. Not have to be secret squirrel, agent with a dangerous mission, crouching behind bushes, peering out to see if they drive on. Is a little thing. A little part of my big day. I go do something else for 8 hours, then something else then I'm at home and no good reasons that this 45 minutes of my day should be making me so crazycakes. Plenty of other big picture, big ticket items could be jammed up this craw, trust me on that.

Uh, so I guess the answer would be, yeah, I still go out there. Cautiously, paranoidly, like a hunchy old, shifty eyed, creeper. Peer out from the tall grass, unclip those leashes, let 'em rip. For a little bit. Then fasten them back up, and hustle off to buffalo before the Bright White Dodge Ram Mega Cab Count on It hisses in through a vapor in the not so far off distance and sails up to make my day.

We all live in a Conspiracy Theory. Yellow Submarine. Conspiracy Theory.

So maybe it's just my imagination here. I was walking Team Small Dog down the street, by the big apartment complex across the street from the sea, on leashes, early in the morning, a block or so from Lighthouse Field, when down the street drives a Ranger. One I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet in person. Sun just up and pretty glarey this early, shines bright over the giant ocean right behind me. In his overstuffed truck that they use now for driving around on the grass and making convenient new truck roads on the soft, meadowy grass. Looking for criminals. And he drives towards me, and slows down, and takes a big, long, drink of water of a looksie at me. Driving all slow.

He's sort of gray and oldish, cruising in that super mega Dodge truck. I'm sort of somewhat late to work looking. I would say, probably you would not drive by me and go, "Sakesy almighty, what a hottie." Wait. Would anyone say that? Or Snoop Dogg would not say, "Look here beeyatch you fine and I dig yo style." Maybe you would say, "Look at her messy unkempt hair and I bet she would like some more coffee for faster speedwalking in scuffy clogs and dirty jeans and what are those a bunch, of related chihuahuas? And she just tripped in her clogs? And who even wears clogs?"

So he's slowing down. Turns his head so we can look deep in each other's eyes. And I just flash a warm and winning smile. If you mean by warm and winning it can include perhaps showing a few more teeth than really need showing in a smile because my lips stretch sort of contortion like as we lock eyes for an instant. And then he just drives off and I keep walking on home. So I can go get a life.

Courtroom Drama Post Game Play by Play - Serving the community sort of like at McDonalds.

OK. So you know for my sentence, I got community service. For an as yet to be worked out community group that is part of the court referral community service program. You know how this works? Let's do a little math.

My actual fine to pay was $210. For walking dogs around where in the same park that I always have. A tax dollar supported park. I'm self employed. I pay A LOT of taxes, my friends. I'm the one that always votes on things to raise our taxes for stuff in the community like schools. I'm a nice person that way. Only a criminal in that I still want to walk my dogs like I always have been able to do, all through the history of my life.

Anyways. Can you say still not exactly over this? The amount of community service needed to do that is the equivalent of that fine is 27 hours.

Then, you also have to pay the administrative cost for setting up the community service. That would be $55.

Here's the math part.

$210 minus $55 is $155.

$155 divided by 27 hours $5.74.

So that's what my hourly time is worth. Not even Six Bucks.

Nice. When does this alleged community service take place? Likely, during the time I'd normally be walking the dogs. I guess. Haven't even figured that out yet. I think that's part of the equation here where I end up with negative Zero.

Courtroom Drama Episode 8-And Justice Will Be Doled Out Like Trader Joe's Charlie Bears

All right. Started out the day, practicing my statement. No one here really all that interested. Thanks to all my pals that helped me out making it sound better. Not the pals pictured here. Pals like Donna and Bev and Mary. Good writers, all of them. No one wanted me to get up there umming and uhing and sounding like a dork. Wanted a nice, concise statement about how we used to self police ourselves, and now it's up to grouchy old rangers to treat lowly dog walkers like the new scarey people out there, and how it's all one big crummy situation now, so therefore, Not Guilty! But they helped me say it WAY better! So I sounded like a nice lawyer or marketing lady at least.

I saw Officer Borreson walk in from the parking lot at the courthouse. Saw her big ranger truck parked out front. She stood right across from the bench I sat on to wait for the courtroom doors to open. We both got there early. That was some good advice that Chris the hitman and Snoop the hitwoman gave Michael, the hitman in training, on the Wire. Always get there early. Not sure why I thought that applied to court, but I consider myself somewhat postmodern in my legal source getting so that's the advice I followed. Not sure if she recognized me in my financial advisor with glasses disguise. I think not. A dog walking comrade joined me on the bench. Super nice of him to come!

So there are a lot of cops, a lot of citizens, the usual court mish mash cross section of our fair city. We all scurry in to get seats.

First thing, we do the All Rise thing, and where is Judge Kim?


Oh My Gawd! She's not here and this is a new judge. Who introduces himself as a temp. A Pro Temp. His name is Judge JD Wells. He looks like one of those guys that is on a lot of tv shows, usually the kindly shopkeeper or the friendly farmer or the high school principal that really wants those football players to do well in school AND play in the big game. He called the roll. When he called my name, I saw Officer Borreson peek over at me out of the side of her eyes. Here I am! We both had the same hairstyle. But hers had bangs. She looked about the same as she did on ticket day, way back in July. Maybe lost a couple pounds. Looking Good Officer Borreson!

So lots of administrative blah blah blah. And then, guess who is going to have the Very First Case! That's Right! No sitting around and waiting here, Laura Hartwick vs. The State of California is up.

So we both approach the bench. First thing, I think that my temp judge has maybe screwed up since he didn't swear us in. But I am thinking, probably shouldn't be reminding him of that, not nice manners when you are the defendant? Miss Manners, help me out here? So I just keep my trap shut. Officer Borreson gets to go first reading her statement about the day of my ticket.

And boy oh boy. Am I thrown for a loop because she says some lies.

So I might be a lot of things. But a liar, I am not. Maybe she just got some stuff wrong. But she says I only put 2 dogs on leashes, and pulled out a red camera to photograph her gun. Uh, guys. I put everyone on a leash instantly. My camera, not red. And I was taking pictures of them both. She also totally makes up this statement that I said about knowing all the rules and reading them on the sign and just saying I will disregard the rules anyways. Said they asked me to leave the park, not threw me out. So I am sort of weirded out by that. Just not how I thought it would go. Duh, I am guilty. But do you have to do this weirdo embellishing to make your Ranger self look better?

So when she finishes, Judge looks at me. Asks if I have any questions for her.

Miss Manners, I am not sure if, "How come you just made all this shit up?" is appropriate question for cross examination period, so I just tell the judge No.

Then he says it's my turn to go.

I say, "Well, I had a prepared statement to read. But I am kind of thrown because the officer just said all this stuff that wasn't true." I just look at him like, help me out here. You're the judge and she gots a gun and duh, ya see why I like to take pictures of stuff?

He says, "Your case isn't dependant on the details of what you said or what you were photographing or when you put dogs on leashes. The only thing we are talking about here is whether or not you were guilty for having your dogs off of a leash, which she did mention. So you don't need to be concerned about other things she said."

That makes me feel better. And then even better when he's like, uh oh I didn't swear you guys in and here, can you sign a thing that says that and then he swears us in and then we're all sworn.

But he does ask her, "Do you want to change any of your statement after being sworn in?"

I am totally staring at her. She just shakes her head no.

So then it's my turn. I read my piece. I do an ok job. Not great but not sucky. I make eye contact with the Judge a lot. Starts out something like this, won't bore you with the whole thing:

The self policing that's historically always taken place in Lighthouse Field by dog walkers such as myself was a huge benefit to the city. The eyes and ears of the dog walkers created a consistent presence that kept those hours safe, and illegal activity at bay. Now, most of these eyes and ears are gone, and those of use who continue to cautiously walk there are villafied by the state, and are now in the same category as the drug dealers, drug users, and campers.

Just then, this guy bursts in from behind me, saying, "I'm from the Friends of Lighthouse Field and I'd like to say something!" It's a nice older white haired gentleman, and he has just appeared from nowhere. Like Glinda the Goodwitch, just sailed in in her bubble, in a polo shirt. I hadn't heard anything from any of the Friends of Lighthouse Field. Just thought you guys were over it, guys. Cuz ya don't really let me know you're out there!

It is super inappropriate. To just sort of bust out into a court case. Like I've been working on this thing A LOT and what if he is going to screw it up for me now? I forget what else he wanted to say. He's just trying to help out. Thank GOD it was not Judge Kim is all I can say. Man oh man would she have been pissed. I'm sorta like, huh? Hi FOLF guy. Uh, Thanks? Judge has him go sit down.

So Judge says to me, and I have to paraphrase this because could not deal with taking notes at this point, "I agree with you! I like dogs. I have a dog. I think dogs should be allowed off leash in Lighthouse Field. But unfortunately, this is a court of law and you broke the law. And much as I agree with you, you broke the State's law."

I think I nod in agreement or something. I know, I know. I don't feel guilty, but according to the state and their handmaiden henchman Officer Borreson, I am guilty.

The nice FOLF guy has lept up again and is asking about community service. Me and Judge JD Wells, we hadn't even gotten to that part of our little conversation yet. We're all just sort of surprised, this FOLF guy back there piping up with all sorts of things. But I am like, yeah, what's the deal on the community service? Can I pick who I do it for?

Judge is all for that. I don't think he really wants to give me a fine, that's what I think. I bet he used to walk his dog out there. I googled him. Regular attorney in town. He donates money to the homeless shelter. Looks like a stand up guy. Doesn't shame me, just on to the next docket item, and that's that's that.


Dogs, sort of don't really care when I get home and go over how it all went down with them. I am sort of weirded out by the legal system, how a cop can just say anything they want, even if not all true. How often does that happen and do a lot of people go to jail because of it? A new thing to worry about. Along with global warming and what is wrong with Otterpop's brain and what REALLY happens to us when we die.

Black Beauty, very interested in stuff like this, the twists and turns people's lives take in the legal system. Everyone else, just all, So we going out to Lighthouse Field to run around now?

You bet.

Courtroom Drama Episode 7-Judgement Day

Maybe you're reading this at 1:30pm, Pacific Beach Zone Time. Aloha, from Sunny Santa Cruz.

If you are, then I'm in court. That's right. Today is judgement day.

Prepared my statement.

Borrowed some clothes.


Took some advice from my attorney. OK, my friend. But she is an attorney. An IMPORTANT one, you guys. She is good. We had to give her wine and play with her kids to get her to advise me on this. Usually frying, like, slightly bigger fish. What did Laura go and do this time?


She said, after an exasperating evening with me, rendering me tongue tied at every look from her, "Laura. I think you have to decide what you're trying to accomplish here. Do you want to get your fine reduced or community service, or do you just want to go in there and be a political activist, and just do that and be done with it? Knowing that you are going to lose, and it might be ugly."

She looked at me over the top of her judge glasses when she said that. One word from her looking over those glasses reduces me to a puddle of decomposed caracass. I think I was supposed to pick the fine reduced and community service option.


I thought for a second. "I just want to do what's right. I don't want to make up some weird thing about canine good citizens and exercising the therapy dog and pleading remorse. It's f**ked up that we are getting tickets for walking our dogs and rangers drive around the field now and there's tire tracks where there used to be grass and that I'm a criminal now and I am not guilty."

She's like, "Yeah, but you are. You broke the law." We'd been going around in circles on this all night. She looks over the top of her glasses at me. "You are aware, Ms. Hartwick, that it is against the law to walk your dogs without leashes out there?"

Shit. See you in court.

Courtroom mini drama, if by drama you actually mean slaughter.

Courtroom drama coming up next week. My trial's on Tuesday. Met with my legal/fashion advice team for pizza and beer last night.

The good news. I now have some nice gray pinstriped pants and a conservative scoop neck sweatery thing to wear. I will be dressed exactly like a financial advisor. Because that's who gave me the outfit. We're the same size. She wears stuff like that every day.

The bad news. One of my legal team, actual attorney. Spends a lot of time around judges and depositions and trials. Sort of a pro. Is a pro. Heard my spiel, and just shot it all to hell. She was judge Kim. Quick as lightning, that silvertongued attorney friend of mine.

Have a little bit of work to do before Tuesday. A lot of work to do before Tuesday. So that when I get shot down by the judge, arrow goes right through my heart, at least I do it with class and style. In some nice pinstriped wool blend pants.

Courtroom Drama Episode 6-A Visit to Court.

Now, my court date isn't until November 18. But was thinking, maybe paying a nice visit to court not a bad idea. Maybe go see Judge Kim in action. Visit the bailiff again. See what court looks like when it's not an arraignment. Take off some work for some official research. We have less than a month. Time to get cracking on my case. Takes time to learn the attorney ways. And today, the ways of the court.

Figured it's ok for anyone to go visit, right? Snuck in before the judge arrived. And who do I see but Dog Trainer Lori there, with her service dog in the back row. She is there for a minor traffic infraction. Her very well trained dog on a down stay at her feet. She's a pet dog trainer in town that I know, and she has been a student in beginning agility class! She's in the back row, I slip in by her and sit behind the row of COPS. A whole row of 10 cops of all shapes and sizes and uniforms and guns, including one State Parks Ranger! Hello research day!

Actual Courtroom sketch. No time to draw his bench. Had lots of notes to take guys!

We are whispering about our legal matters before the judge comes. Bailiff, a scowling lady with long bangs today, glares. Dog Trainer Lori suggest I get an emergency Canine Good Citizen title on my dogs before my court date, and she is just the dog trainer to do it! Score! Thanks Dog Trainer Lori! Bailiff glares. Shit. But as I will see in court, evidence helps and the more papers that I have showing what Good Dogs I have, can't hurt. I think. Somewhere I have evidence of USDAA and CPE titles and Official Pet Assisted Therapy Dog, but actually, as a person who does not keep ribbons or junky junk like that, I may have put these in the recycling bin. Sorry USDAA and CPE. I confess. Did not frame and put on the wall by their giant oil painted portrait murals. I may pay the price in court.

So anyways. The Judge is a little more Judge Judy here than she was on arraignment day. She announces the rules of court, and reminds us that she is Not Inviting a Dialog. You just talk when it's your turn. Another important thing to take note of, we will learn.

Everyone gets sworn in by the scowling woman next to the judge. She's the one who gives you a paper about your fine. She has on a wrinkled summer blouse. No official court outfit for her. Judge has a robe, Bailiff a cop outfit, wrinkled blouse for her. I get sworn in too. I was the only one that didn't stand up when she told us all rise to get sworn in and I got a scowl, so up I go and stand and raise my right hand and swear to tell the truth. I'm just the reporter today. You guys, I ALWAYS tell the truth. Usually. Definitely when sworn in. Was pretty undramatic and involves no bibles. That must have gone out of style during civil rights.

So after some business with cops not showing up and defendants not showing up, it's Dog Trainer Lori's turn. To protect her identity and privacy, let's say her minor infraction was just something we have all done in the car. Mi-Nor. But she was the one that got popped and here she is and she has a table full of evidence that maybe doesn't make her not guilty, but does make her look like a good citizen. Big Time. Talks about a canine emergency she was handling at time of her infraction. Her pro bono work with County Animal Services. The judge's interest is piqued. She has spread a load of evidence over the table and speaks clearly and concisely and by the end, judge has said, OK, you may be guilty but no fine for you. It is suspended. Suspended being a good thing here. Not like that time in high school. And off she goes. I'll talk to you soon, Dog Trainer Lori!

She did look just like this. But meaner.

Next case involves a hitchhiker who might be a Crazy Guy vs. Cop. Hitchhiker has random photos of stuff he keeps labeling Exhibit A, B, C and so on. Cop is confused. Bailiff confused, and snorts her disapproval. She is snorty. Judge confused. Crazy Guy is confused. Long story short, Crazy Guy vs. Cop, guess who wins? Good luck next time, Crazy Guy.

Next case, Well Groomed Guy in tie vs. Cop. An unsafe lane change. Well Groomed Guy's word vs. Cop's. Guess who wins? Better luck next time, but nice job with your hygiene!

Next case, guy in tie and Dockers vs. Cop. Speeding case, near the University. NOTORIOUS spot for radar cops. But this guy has driven all the way down from Roseville for court, was in our fair city for his daughter's soccer tournament and this cop has dragged his name through the mud by ticketing him and boy is he MAD. Thinks the cop is lying. So far, we have learned that Judge Kim tends to side with Cops. Now we are learning she does not like mad people and by God, she HAS JUST TURNED INTO JUDGE JUDY! Am freaking out here. Note to self. Do not get mad and DO NOT INTERRUPT JUDGE KIM! He lost right then and there. Better luck next time, and be sure to visit the Boardwalk and toss some tax revenue into our city coffers on your way out, our friend in Dockers.

Proof is important in court. Here's proof of my reporter's notebook.

Next case, Older Lady in a Navy Blue Cardigan vs. Cop. She stands up there, hands nervously twitching behind her back. Her cardigan from Lands End or other such mail order place. She is scared. She got a rolling stop sign ticket right by her house, where she has lived for 32 years, by this super tall young whippersnapper motorcycle cop. She is almost crying because she is a safe driver and he said she wasn't. She would never do anything unsafe right there, on her street. She says the 32 years thing a couple times. Judge Kim gets mad again. She DOES NOT LIKE PEOPLE REPEATING themselves, note to self. Uh, so sorry, lady in your sensible cardigan. Better luck next time. Don't forget to sit in the blue chair to wait for your bill which you can pay on your way out.

Finally, the case I've been waiting for. The last officer left in the row of cops is the State Parks Ranger. His talking to god machine strapped to him, row of guns and cuffs and junk strapped across his manly belt. Same belt bailiff is wearing. She is manly too, in her too long bangs and scowly face way. He goes up there with a young guy. Guy is surfer kid. It's a long story. Judge looks like she has a teenager at home and has heard this story one too many times. Lot of holes in his long tale involving the skateboard and the permit and the fight and the market across the tracks and what was in the glove box. Ranger really doesn't need to say much, as the young dude sort of just talking his way further and further into a deep hole. A deep hole of losing.

One of the last things she admonishes young dude with is the warning, "Think before you use a State Beach. They have specific rules. Don't waste State resources at a time when they are scarce."

Gulp. But they're the ones driving around out there in their State resources giving us damn tickets for walking dogs. Oh boy.

So in my court day, how many citizens pleaded their cases successfully? How about ZERO! Zero became not guilty. A couple had fines suspended or reduced. The rest, so sorry, please come again. Lots of snorting and eye rolling from the bailiff. Bored sorting and filing from wrinkled blouse. Judge Kim, she's heard it all before. Like a million times. Not a whole lot is going to sway her to not side with our nation's finest, in their clean, pressed uniforms, badges, buckles and belts. Polished high boots and clearly written reports. These are her GUYS. She loves you guys. You keep the justice, make us citizens play by her rules. And then bring the troublemakers in here to get shamed.

Um. Has nothing to do with court. But what a depressing task we face. Just watching Gustavo do bizarre things is some good pet assisted therapy for me. This fence barking lasted exactly 2 days then went away. OK!

Court sounds fun? Oh man. Can't wait.

The new way to take a walk.

So this isn't really in a courtroom. But is something I think I could mention in a courtroom. Let's say defense preparation. Or just a new way to describe how to take the dogs for a walk in Lighthouse Field. The old way, before court cases and rangers and litigation and settlements, you just walked over there, took off the leashes, walked around, said hi to people, looked at some butterflies, walked around, that was sort of it. Very, very simple. The new way, a stealth mission, a political action, an exercise in civic justice, ethics and morals, and also calls into play issues of public safety. Holy moley Batman, how hard does it have to be to talk the dogs for a damn walk in our fair city of Santa Cruz?


So in the morning, would like to walk through Lighthouse Field to go to the beach. No longer a destination, now more of a head achey quandry due to all the afore mentioned line items. Seems like the rangers staying off of the beach, but also seems like they are in the field full force. By field, let's say 33 acre field of dead grass with bushes here and there that now make nice bars, campgrounds, and sleazy motel rooms. But where, for years, was just a scenic place to walk around with dogs and the bushes were just that-bushes. Worse crime out there was once an old lady in a light blue windbreaker dropped her kleenex out of her sleeve and forgot to pick it up. Or maybe just couldn't bend over that far. Litterbug. Off with her head. That was the level of criminals out there. Someone forgot to pick up their poop? Here come the dog walking righteous Stewards of Beloved Park to chastise and make sure it's picked up. Peer pressure, self policing, crime free. You want a chatty, gray haired lady in a colorful hat with a giant poodle chewing you out and then yacking your ear off about her poodle? Yeah. You behave out there.

Now, with the new advent of Rangers enforcing the new leash laws, no one walks out there. Deserted. At least by nice neighbors with dogs. People that enjoy using bushes for bars, campgrounds, and sleazy motel rooms, they sorta like the no neighbors and their pesky dogs walking around out there because who wants a big fluffy dog jumping on you in your sleeping bag or disturbing your romantic moment that'll buy ya some meth in a few minutes? Inconvenient. So now, more of those folks there now with the less dogs. Zero of poodle ladies afraid of creepies in the bushes. Way fewer of folks like me. A few of us still take our chances with rangers and man shit and sleepers and shooters, just cuz we still like to walk in our neighborhood park. Field. Dead grass with bushes. We keep to the edges, creep around, a little bit paranoid of the new Anything Can Happen out there vibe in the field.

This morning, walking through, had this feeling of Ranger Alert and kept my dogs attached to my person. Attached to My Person. I say things like this, now that I'm preparing my first legal case. Attached to my person where I've always let my dogs walk free makes me crazy, so didn't even walk through on our normal path. Too depressing. Sort of skirted along the edge, heading for the beach. And good thing, because saw the big white Dodge pickup with the lights on top-Assault Weapon Armed Ranger Wheels- come through. That's the New Steward of the Park now. Good thing paths wide. Those are big trucks. Very nice for driving around in our park. One of those things could take out one poodle lady no problem.

Took dogs down to the beach. Ran around. Just me. No one else. A lot of people scared of tickets down there still. I'm on the perhaps delusional idea that they leave us alone at the beach as opposed to in the field. Actually have to park big Dodge trucks and walk down a million stairs and kind of big inconvenience for truck driving Rangers. Who knows what the reasoning is. Ran for a while, dogs good and tired. Once it becomes winter, tides change and we usually lose the beach for a few months, so not sure what will happen then. Won't worry about that today.

Came up to walk back home via field, took a look around, looking for trucks. Low and behold. Aloha means hello AND goodbye. Who do we see? Ranger truck redux. Numero dos. Different truck completely, this is one of the ones with camper shells, albeit still big and powerful and shiney and new. They all have same rack mounted assault weapons, I've checked. See them talking to a lady off in the distance. Uh oh. Another couple ladies walking and jogging through, dogs definitely on leashes.

Ask a lady I recognize, with a scruffy big dog on a leash and an Obama button on her periwinkle jogging suit, "Did anyone get a ticket?"

Lady jogger says, "I couldn't believe it. She saw them coming, put her dog on a leash, and they are writing her up."

I'm like, "Do you know if it's actually ticket?" Until now, I'm the only person I've heard of getting an actual for money ticket. Most people just get warnings. Most people don't make Officer Walters so mad. No one else I know learning about how court works and building their defense and borrowing a power suit and briefcase. Planning a mock trial with silver tongued friends to help prepare for talking to the judge.


Lady jogger thought so. I couldn't tell who it was. A lady in a light green parka with a big dog. Blurry in the distance. Criminal. Us criminals out there, Joe the Plumbers walking the dogs, causing the state to send giant trucks driving through what once was the nicest field of dead grass around, star of the neighborhood, community gem. Now, via loopholes and court settlements and litigation galore, dead grass with paranoid ladies walking dogs quickly through on leashes, one eye out for creepies in the bushes and the other for great big trucks coming up from behind. It's the new way to take a walk.

Save the date for a Lighthouse Field Court Date!

Here's your clip-n-save invitation for Court. Just a reminder. Feel free to download and print and pass out to your friends. Or email it around. I say the more the merrier when it comes to court.


Download, Print, Clip 'N' Save-Fun, Easy, Cheap 'N' Educational!

Or maybe you are an attorney and you're like, Oh My Gawd People who Watched LA Law in the 80's should not be representing themselves and you think Pro Bono legal work for dog ladies is like super fun, and there, you see my email there scrawled on the bottom? You email me and we chat.

And hey, if you're new here, and you're like, Where's Sarah Palin? Where's dog agility? What's going on? Look down. See where it says Labels: Lighthouse Field, and I think that Lighthouse Field is written in RED? If your internet looks like mine. I told it to be written in red but god knows what it looks like by the time it gets to your house. Click on Lighthouse Field. It should take you to much of this long, long story about just walking our dogs where we always have and then the assault weapons and then all the episodes of Courtroom Drama.

Team Small Dog Courtroom Drama-Episode Four

All right. Didn't know on Arraignment Day, when I woke up, things were going to be a little more dramatic than I hoped for a courtroom drama. I am the namer of this event, and drama we say, is drama we get. Maybe not in such a good way. Day stared out with a crippled horse that maybe needs euthanization first thing. My old, beloved grandma horse Jane. Can't walk. Gotten nothing but worse over the last few days. Usually I spare you guys the professional drama in my life, but this is just sad. Not a good morning. This is saddest part of whole story. Weep now. Get it done with. Back to court.

So long story short yet still long, we give the poor sweet mare a few more days, and I jump in the car to make it back to Santa Cruz because you can't be late for court. Dogs are all exhausted and not irritating, ie, asleep in car crates, because they all had a hard run on the beach early in the morning. Even Black Beauty. Now a beach running chihuahua. Not Lighthouse Field State Beach, causer of my whole new hobby of Court. The other ranger-free, no ticket one. So you know how long usually takes to get back to town from the ranch, usually 40 minutes, maybe 45. How about when a big rig rolls over on the freeway and starts burning up and causes the freeway to get shut down? In that case maybe 3 hours. Uh. Arraignment at 1:30, leaving horse with vet at noon, and we are sitting in a parking lot.

So time to mobilize the Team Small Dog Courtroom Dream Team! First of all Gary on alert with all court paperwork and all important green organizer of my life, ready to meet me at court. And transfer dogs back to house so dogs don't have to sit in court parking lot in the sun. And Project Manager Bev finds the wreck on the internet and keeps me posted about the traffic jam. She keeps telling me to twitter my blackberry. Huh? I don't even have bluetooth here anymore. Just phone. Twitter the what? So I call the court with my old fashioned communicator named broken cel phone. And Court actually answers the phone for the very first time!

Hi Court! I am stuck in Traffic!

Can I tell you guys, I am not a late person? I am an EARLY person. NEVER, EVER, EVER LATE. This is just killing me. Try the bananarama of the yoga breathing. What can you do when Highway 1 shuts down?

Court says maybe they can put a note on the docket. Laura Hartwick is stuck in traffic. I'm not sure if Court, which sounds like a nice lady, is being facetious or for real. I am like, "It's not just regular traffic. It's stopped. Highway 1 is shut. Cerrado. Not moving. Parking lot."

Court says, "Which highway?"

"Uh, Oooonnne." It's our only highway in Santa Cruz. If you are at one end of Santa Cruz County, there's one way across. I live on one far end of the county, and work on the other. Highway One. When it shuts down, everything shuts down.

Court is like, "So, what do you want to do?"

I'm like, "Whatever is least disrespectful to court. You tell me." I am trying to be a good citizen here. And not in contempt of court. There's a min-pin sticking out of the big rig window next to me. The driver points to stuff and it barks. My dogs are sleeping in the back, not realizing the STRESSFULNESS of this situation. Min pin in the big rig over there, he realizes. Stressfull, Little Min Pin! Bark for me! Can I fiddle with ipod while I am illegally non bluetooth on celphone with court? Should I be listening to Bruce Springsteen here?

Court said it was a good thing I called and let them know, they'll try to put a note in there and put me in for a new arraignment time but I should try to come down there. I am sort of suspicious of this promise somehow, and keep rolling along. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Stop. Stop. Stop. Go. Finally roll past a giant burned up husk of the big rig and the freeway all ripped up to shreds there and then it's off to court! It's about a quarter past 2 now. 45 minutes late. Like what would Judge Judy do to late people? Probably rip 'em a new one is what I'm thinking. And throw the book at 'em.

So meet Gary at court, get my paperwork he found for me, and switch cars so dogs can not have to sit at court and down I go to the basement courtroom. Didn't have time to plan an outfit, am still wearing really nasty old raggy pants and sneakers from running out of house early to get the dogs run and manage the horse situation. Not thinking, this would be a completely appropriate and fashion forward outfit to wear to court. Mostly thinking, these are pants and let me try to put them on really fast. Am wearing a shirt that has much visible tattoo showage. Is appropriate to show much tattoo at court? What a pickle I am in here.

Turns out it's ok, because everyone else having their arraignment today is seriously underdressed as well. Serious fashion crime in Court. There are a lot of us, and I sneak in there and everyone turns around to stare at me. Old people, young people. Skaters, homeless types, well dressed, crappy dressed, bunch of ethnicities, hawaiian shirts, tie dye, frumpy, impeccably pressed khakis, if you can imagine it, they were wearing it to court. Slip in next to a pregnant lady in sweats, hoping I haven't had my name called yet. Judge calls up some names ending in B, and I think we are alphabetical and I am a-ok.

Actual, genuine courtroom sketch from courtroom

What are some of the other underdressed citizens in there for? Failure to appropriately ride a skateboard. Sitting on a planter while chalk art was being drawn on the sidewalk that was not grafitti. A homeless guy for camping. Bike violation. Some kind of insurance fiasco and they towed the car. I am in here with some serious criminals. There's a huge bailiff over in the corner, HUGE I tell you, arms the size of massive wheels of cheddar cheese. Stubbly head from shaving it. His job is sit there and lean back in his chair and yawn sometimes. Some ladies are typing fast on the other side of the judge. There's a flag. Kind of like Judge Judy's set, but no wood paneling. Sheetrock and formica and a worn, '70's looking judge zone.


Pretty quick, it's my turn. Your Honor calls my name, off I go up to the bench. Judge Kim Baskett looks like a reasonable, nice lady. Like could be a mom of kids that ride with me. Good hair. Good glasses. That Sarah Palin lady in charge look but in a black robe. She explains stuff really, really well. Because some of the other people in line maybe didn't do their research and homework. Just saying, some of you other criminals. Might help. I get the feeling, after listening to arraignments for half an hour, that this judge has heard it all.

She says, "You are here for not having your dog on a leash at Lighthouse Field, according to the State. How do you plea?"

I am so happy I've rehearsed this. "I am Not Guilty, your honor." I look her in the eyes. I am thinking earnest and good citizen thoughts here.

"You are entitled to a court date. Do any of those times in November work for you?" She had just run through a bunch of court dates to a guy in really dirty, wrinkled clothes about illegal bike riding. He was having a hard time picking a good date. It took a while.


"I would like to come in on November 18, your honor." That was the soonest date she had offered. I think that still gives me plenty of time to work on my case. I got the ticket in July. I wrote it in my green organizer that runs my entire life.

She said, "Have you finished writing that down?" Just as I finished writing it down. She runs a tight court.

"Yes, your honor." She kind of talks to everyone in here like 4 year olds. Like is SUPER CLEAR. I am thinking maybe next she asks me to put my pen down when I'm done. Instead, she has me approach the bench and gives me a slip of paper with some more instructions, and thanks me for coming in. I thank her back. And that was it. Outta there. Arraignment took like 30 seconds.


So here you go, my friends. Tuesday, November 18, 1:30pm. Santa Cruz County Building, Traffic and Minor Violations courtroom in the basement. See you there? Lighthouse Field people, talking to you here. You wanna come? Represent? Tell your friends? See what happens when a dog lovin' visual generalist horse trainer defends herself because she used to watch LA Law and will try to channel Laurie Partridge? SURE to be a fiasco, right? See you in Court.

Team Small Dog Courtroom Drama-Part 2

So yesterday was the date we were supposed to go to court, as randonly assigned by the Lady in the Ticket Window, starting where our story left off last time, which was sort of at the Midget Mobile. Remember? Naked Trolls. She told me come back on September 11. All freaky creepy. Maybe you forgot that was what we were supposed to do yesterday. Like had more IMPORTANT Sept. 11 things to think about.

But then, the other day, I got this letter. With my name and my violation and my total bail of $210, and the due date. And in big letters, at the bottom, it says TRIAL. And:

To contest a citation EITHER (1) appear at Traffic Division noted at the front of your citation, (2) pay the bail listed on the front of this notice, (3) sign and file a "Waiver of Arraigment and Plea of Not Guilty" form, and (4) be assigned a court date by the clerk or (1) appear in court, (2) enter a plea of "Not Guilty:, and (3) be ordered to appear for a Court Trial by the judgical officer.

You get all that? 

Naw, me either.


See, I sat around and made a non courtroom sketch instead of finishing reading it.

It sort of goes on and on and who has time to read IMPORTANT LEGAL PAPERS SENT TO YOU BY A COURT.

But the part that did catch my attention, the due date. 10/08/08. That's like, in October! Halloween! Nearly Christmas! Like, we would be done Christmas shopping by then, right? And I have episodes of Project Runway (I KNOW I KNOW!) to watch and I've been really hooked on watching Carnivale (you will hear about this show SOON I promise, because it is about psychic Russian Dustbowl Carnies and the Devil in the Central Valley!) or like clean the garage or measure how tall Otterpop is compared to a loaf pan or stare at the creepy orange light that is getting dark like SO EARLY like when I'm still at work. 

So I'll finish reading the paper then sometime before 10 oh 8 oh 8.

Whose idea was this for me to represent myself? Are all attorneys like this? Can I bill for these hours? See you in Court!

Team Small Dog, BFF to State Parks, Helps BFF with a New Wildlife Guide to Lighthouse Field.

We were thinking the other day, on our enjoyable, yet illegal, walk through Lighthouse Field, Team Small Dog maybe needs to practice more the Secret. We should be working on God's plan, because that's what Sarah Palin would want us to do if she were the Vice President then starting Actual Running of the Country as President should we be blessed yet cursed with the rapid death of John McCain, shortly before anarchy and Hiya Just Drill Some More Oil Here take over the US. Just saying. Doesn't hurt to plan ahead for a new era. Just in case.

So in that spirit, we are going to be more helpers for the California State Parks system. BFF. Best Friends FOREVER! We are nicey nicey with you, State Parks. And we are making you a nice wildlife guide, starting today, to help your park attendees who want to take in some Natural Beauty with Dogs on Leashes, in Lighthouse Field State Park.

Let's start with some clip-n-save coupons, to help you identify flora and fauna and sights and smells.


Thanks Otterpop!


Thanks Ruby! She is Always the one who finds the taqueria and harbor fish dump piles out there!


Thanks Gustavo! He vanishes so quick we don't always know what his little sniffer picked up but it usually involves Burger King wrappers!

What About the Nature out there? Used to be dogs and birds. But wait! Now there's More!


Awww, who doesn't love a kitty. Or two. Or ten. Or twenty. Little fluffy breeders!


So many pretty camp spots under the trees. Hey Otterpop, guess where you can find some more hot stinking man shit?


Wow, we could go on and on with these Popular Specimens. But golly gee, we gotta go to work!

Team Small Dog Courtroom Drama-Part 1

So today starts the exciting and dramatic story I like to call Courtroom Drama. Because you know I've already proven myself to be a drama queen. And today, August 26, coincidentally Day 2 of the Democratic National Convention that I am supposed to be covering for my friend Jon's art project, yet haven't due to working on my legal briefs or panties or whatever, is the day I have to go to Court for my Minor Violation of walking my dogs in Lighthouse Field.

If you are new to all this, Hi! and check here for how we got to this section of the story. It started in y2K when someone decided they didn't like dogs meandering around out there. It's a really long story.


So first of all, I needed to select a good costume for court wearing. I wanted to channel sort of a soccer mom, like Nancy Botwin. Wait. She is a criminal. That's where the denim jacket idea came from. It says, upstanding citizen and not very fashion forward and maybe I drive a mini van? Dog agility lady? I think? Well, whatever. I thought I was nicer dressed than thug guy in line in front of me at least. But I get ahead of myself.


Do you recognize this Court? It is also known as scenic and glamorous site of my wedding! Right across the street from the dry cleaners.


Team Small Dog, minus dogs, parks here.


The Midget Mobile, covered in INSANE TROLLS parks next to us.


Guys, I am serious. Insane trolls cover the Midget Mobile in the parking lot of the Santa Cruz County Court Building.


Where they also have Wi-Fi.


But no pets. Doesn't that pet look familiar? It's totally Gustavo! Being a law abiding Nancy Botwin of a citizen, did not bring dogs in. Or a camera. I was ready to sketch. Because that is what you do in the courtroom. I brought a pen and some pieces of paper. Old school.


So I go to the basement. Where Traffic/Minor Violations Court is. There's not even a metal detector, but it does say NO GUNS OR KNIVES on the sign. Walking around with my dogs in the park is a Minor Violation, according to the State. I am proud to say didn't even cross my mind to bring a gun or knife. I just like to walk my dogs is all. Sheesh.


Stand in line. There's a nice lady in a striped shirt at a ticket window, like you would go to buy your ticket to the circus. She has the computer back there. A very old computer, the kind with a black window and bright green light up words in it. What was it's name? Dos? Unix? Poor striped shirt lady works in a dark basement with a plastic vine on her gray cube wall and even though out front they rave about their Wi-Fi, she just has Dos for a friend. And no pets.

I gave her my ticket, with my Court Date right there at the bottom. She types it in.

It's not there! Whoa! Can you say Midget Mobile? She says sometimes it just takes a while. I'm like, "But it said I had to come in Today or I'd get a warrant? And then they don't even put me in there?"

She's like, "Yeah."

I'm kind of like, just standing there. It is sort of an anticlimactic feeling. I stayed up super late writing my little speech of why I was pleading Not Guilty using most excellent words and needed a Real Court Date to go in the no guns or knives room, and this blonde lady in a striped t-shirt says I'm just not in there yet.

She takes a pen, the old fashioned thing people used to write with, grabs my ticket, and writes down 9-11-2008 on it. "Check back then. You should be in. You should get a letter too."

OK. Are you serious? Send Team Small Dog in on September 11? Can you say Midget Mobile AGAIN? Stay tuned for more Courtroom Drama coming at you sometime after September 11. Coincidence? I think not.

Spoiler for today's episode is at least I don't get shot with the firearm.

So you know, I haven't been yammering about Lighthouse Field much lately. Haven't seen many rangers out there, and continue to walk my dogs out there nearly every day. Leash my ass.


Technically, this is still illegal activity. But we still do it. Selling meth out there is illegal too, those guys still do that. Just look for all black shorts and knee socks and hoodies if you need some meth!


And this is illegal too. Luckily not happening in fresh hot man shit from the growing homeless camper population out there.


And this is actually illegal. Whew, glad they're not chasing all the feral cats we see since there's hardly any dogs out there anymore.


Part of Lighthouse Field State Park includes Its Beach. My local neighborhood beach, where I take my dogs to run pretty much every single day. Dogs need to run, and this has always been the Dog Beach. We always walk through the field on the way there and on the way home.


Sometimes they stop running for a minute to rest. That is actually just as illegal as running, in case you were wondering.


And sit down. Oops. If they sit and not on a leash, it's a misdemeanor.


And maybe even lay down. That was a lot of tennis ball fetches, Otterpop. Is illegal for her to lay down like that, but legal for the creepy drug addled guy to come and ask me for a cigarette.


So we always walk to and from the beach through the Field. Always have. Look who came running out of the bushes yelling at us today? Doens't it seem like it would be hard to run with that many accessories attached to your accessory belt?


It's Officer Borreson and Officer Walters! We've met Officer Walters before. But I don't believe I've had the pleasure, Officer Borreson. I called all the dogs in and they did a dog training sit and let me put on their leashes. I have really good dogs sometimes. I am pretty sure Officer Walters remembers us, because as soon as I whipped out my camera, he Loud Whispers to Officer Borreson, "Give her a 319." That's cop talk for a misdemeanor citation for having dogs off a leash in their new park. See, new park for them, old park for me. He told me he was going to video me too. I said that's Super! Cuz I was going to photograph them. She's calling in my info to see if I have any outstanding warrants in my name.


Officer Borreson was happy to write me up. Maybe she is like the waitress and Officer Walters like Top Chef? He just stood there all grumpy stink eye at me the whole time. One hand always right there by his sidearm. She had this really great eyeshadow on. But I didn't ask her what shade that was. She asked me if anyone had ever asked me to leash my dogs out there. I told her I had to think about that for a while, since I've been walking them out there for like my whole life off leashes and that's a lot of years to think about. Think, think, think. Um, Yeah! It's been mentioned to me once or twice.


They wrote me up. $211 is what we believe it will cost AND I have to go to court for it. So after she handed it to me, I thanked them, and asked if they would be writing any tickets to that guy I saw sleeping in the bushes this morning when I walked off leash to the beach? Or the meth guys I saw yesterday? Or the creepy guy that was on the beach and actually why I left this morning? Well, Officer Walter's answer was, "YOU NEED TO LEAVE THIS PARK NOW."


I was like, "Like you mean, you're kicking me out?"

Officer Walters stink eyes me again. Although he has on Terminator Style shades on so it's hard to see. I think they were a present from our Governator! Maybe he was actually looking kindly at me.

"Yes, I am evicting you and you need to vacate the premises immediately."


I said, in a nicey voice because I am a nicey lady, "Wait, how come you are KICKING ME OUT of my neighborhood park?"


He said in a not nicey voice that I have to paraphrase here because I didn't bring my reporter's notebook, although YAY I had my camera, because I knew the rules and I violated them and it was time for me to leave and not come back today. NOW. Like, if I can use my psychic What Do Rangers Think powers, I was knowingly being a naughty lady and maybe a little bit smarty pants and not at all like a nice waitress, and it made him irritated, and in his job, if he's irritated, he can throw me out of his park. No more sharing. No more our park.