Townspeople

Dalton column: Leash laws and 'the perfect predator'

Bill Dalton
Published: November 5, 2009

There was a saying in Andover that, if you wanted crowd at Town Meeting, put a leash law article in the warrant. Two of the biggest Town Meetings I presided over in the 1970s involved leash laws. Folks sure got emotional about dogs in those days. It was an issue that separated old Andover from new Andover.

Although most dogs like to stay close to their food bowls, there are a few that roam and a few more that favor fertilizing their neighbors' lawns. The roam-around dogs give me a kick. When a dog is walking briskly along a street, I wonder what's going on it that dog's head. They trot, eyes forward, some mission in mind. Some are male dogs in search of romance, but I think most of them are natural born adventurers: the Marco Polos, Christopher Columbus's, Captain Kirks of their breeds. Dogs whose primitive brain remember a time before they endeared themselves to humans as watchdogs and traveling food.

In any event, for most of Andover's history, dogs were leashless. In the 1950s, a pack of dogs wreaked some havoc in West Andover and the police chief suggested they should be shot. And they were.

I don't know exactly what the tipping point is, but every municipality reaches a size that causes dogs to lose their freedom. For example, can you imagine flea-ridden mongrels wandering around the center of town getting in the way of folks trying to get their hair and nails done?

Where I live, in small-town New Hampshire, there is a leash law but nobody cares, and it's not enforced. Most people are pretty considerate and know better than to let their dogs bother neighbors. Besides, everybody has guns and there's only so much bothering most folks put up with. A dog that persistently acts like a varmint is likely to be treated like one.

There are also bears, fisher cats, coyotes, and wolves around, so it's a tough place for an aspiring leashless Lassie. So why do they bother with a leash law in a small-town in New Hampshire? Mostly just to remind the few folks who aren't considerate that they ought to be.

That's partly why we ended up with a leash law in Andover. But the reminder wasn't enough, so we came back and put some teeth in the law.

Our family dog when I was growing up was probably another reason why we had a leash law in Andover. He was a fox terrier and believed all living things should be attacked and mauled with the exception of those of us who fed him. There was nothing Toby liked better than fighting other dogs.

What I'm about to say you may not believe, but I swear it's the truth, and I have witnesses. If you gave Toby a juicy bone, he'd spend a few minutes gnawing on it and then he'd do something as odd as anything I've ever seen a dog do. He'd take the still-savory bone, leave it in the front yard, and then hide in the nearby bushes to wait. Toby was almost a perfect predator: half sleeping, not moving, waiting at length for his prey, often with results.

Some poor sucker of a dog would wander by, sniff the air, and, hardly believing his luck, move to the bone. Like a moray eel attacking from under a rock to slash some little fish to pieces, Toby would charge from his hiding place and attack. The difference between Toby and the moray eel was that Toby was usually smaller than what he was attacking. Toby was Mickey Rourke playing the barfighter in "Barfly," not caring as much about winning as being in the fight.

It didn't bother him to visit the vet; in fact, there was an odd affinity between Toby and his "cut man." Toby lived a long time, looking in his later years like a piece of crockery that had been shattered and glued back together by a preschooler. In the end, when Toby was very old, he was killed by a pair of boxers in our front yard.

I guess a leash law would have saved his life.

Bill Dalton writes a weekly column for the Andover Townsman and can be reached at billdalton@andovertownie.com.