By Anne Sullivan
I stomped into the house, shedding my snow-covered boots at the door. Sylvia dogged at my heels, waiting until she got inside to shake the snow off her wooly coat.
“There’s a letter for you, Sylvia,” I said, pulling a damp envelope from my pocket.
Sylvia jumped up, grabbed the envelope in her teeth, took it to her bed beneath the TV and turned it over and over.
“Who’s it from?” I asked once I’d located my slippers and divested myself of my wooly wet coat.
“It’s from Buddy and Pie, my friends in Quemado,” she said, adding after she’d chewed the envelope open, “and they’ve got big news of the utmost importance.”
Naturally my next word was “What?” after which I turned up the heat and collapsed into my comfortable chair.
Sylvia took a long breath and stood in front of me to read her letter out loud: “’Dear Sylvia, You will be delighted to learn that Catron County will now enforce the New Mexico Felony Animal Cruelty Law (Chapter 107, Section 30-18-1.) Ryan Letergy has been hired to fill the position of Animal Control Officer.’”
At this point she lowered the paper, a frown covering her face.
As usual I asked, “What’s the matter, Sylvia? Aren’t you delighted with the news?”
“I don’t like the sound of that – -Animal Control Officer. I don’t like the idea of being controlled, particularly by an Officer. It’s bad enough with you giving me orders all day long – - ‘Sit. Stay. No’ – - but I won’t have any Officer doing it.”
“I don’t believe that’s the idea,” I said. “Doesn’t the letter tell you what this Animal Control Officer does?”
“Oh yeah, here it is: ‘Officer Letergy will investigate suspected animal cruelty complaints and take the proper legal actions, if cruelty is established.’ That’s better. It sounds like he’s on our side.”
“It sounds pretty good to me. Does the letter say how one can contact this Officer Letergy?” I asked.
Sylvia hoisted her letter and read on: “’Officer Letergy can be reached at the Catron County Sheriff’s Department in Reserve. The phone number is 575 533 6222.’ That’s very simple,” she said. “Even Gordo could probably do it if he knew how to use the phone. We’d better write that number down and put it by the phone so we might have a chance of finding it should we ever need it. Now all anyone has to do is pick up the phone and report any abuse or cruelty.” Sylvia’s demeanor showed that she was deep in thought, always a dangerous condition.
“Okay, Sylvia, out with it.”
“It’s just that I’m wondering exactly what constitutes cruelty. I have a particular case in mind. I received a bag of pigs’ ears for Christmas. Pigs’ ears which you immediately confiscated. It is now February and I have yet to see – - let alone eat – - one of said pigs’ ears. I call that most severe abuse and cruelty beyond the bounds of decency.”
“There’s a reason I haven’t doled out your pigs’ ears,” I said trying not to sound overly defensive. “If you remember, you were sick around Christmas time and on a rice diet. You might also remember that eating too much rawhide makes you throw up. I’m exercising my parental duty to protect you from further illness. To do anything else would make me liable for cruelty and I could go to jail.”
Sylvia eyes shot sparks into mine. “We’ll let the Animal Control Officer be the judge of your culpability and consequent liability and possible jail sentence. Will you be so kind as to dial that number for me?”
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