The Case of the Howling Dog

"Meet Mr. Cooper," he said, "my assistant."

The paunchy individual smiled his pleasure, came forward and shook hands with Cartright. The twinkling eyes studied Cartright's face in swift appraisal. The man held Cartright's hand for an appreciable interval after he had completed the perfunctory handshake.

"Well," said Mason, "I guess we're all ready to go; is that right?"

"All ready," said Dorcas, sitting down back of his desk.

He was tall, lean, high checked and baldheaded, and there was a mental alertness about him which made his audience restless.

"It's about a dog," said Perry Mason. "Clinton Foley, residing at 4889 Milpas Drive, his house adjoining that of Mr. Cartright here, has a police dog that howls."

"Well," said Dorcas, grinning, "if a dog is entitled to one bite, he should be entitled to one howl."

Arthur Cartright did not smile. His hand shot to his pocket, pulled out a package of cigarettes, then, after a moment's hesitation, dropped the package back in the pocket.

Cooper's twinkling eyes, watching Cartright in constant appraisal, lost their expression of bubbling good humor for a moment, then once more started to twinkle.

"This man has got to be arrested," said Cartright. "The howling has got to be stopped. You hear? It's got to be stopped!"

"Sure," said Perry Mason, "that's what we're here for, Cartright. Go ahead and tell them your story."

"There's no story to tell; the dog howls, that's all."

"Constantly?" asked Cooper.

"Constantly. That is, I don't mean constantly, I mean he howls regularly at intervals, you know the way a dog howls. Damn it! No dog howls all the time. He howls, and then he stops, and then he howls again."

"What makes him howl?" asked Cooper.

"Foley makes him howl," said Cartright positively.

"And why?" asked Cooper.

"Because he knows it gets my goat. Because he knows it gets his wife's goat. It means a death in the neighborhood, and his wife is sick. I tell you he's got to stop it! That dog has got to be stopped."

Dorcas thumbed through the index of a leatherbacked book, then said in a querulous, high pitched voice:

"Well, there's an ordinance against it, an ordinance providing that if any one keeps any dog, cow, horse, chickens, rooster, guinea hen, fowl, animal or other livestock of any sort, nature or description within a congested area whether the same be incorporated or unincorporated, under such circumstances that a nuisance is created, it is a misdemeanor."

"What more do you want?" asked Cartright.

Dorcas laughed.

"I don't want any more of anything," he said. "Personally I don't like howling dogs and I don't like crowing roosters. This ordinance was originally enacted to keep dairies and livery stables out of the congested districts. Milpas Drive is an exclusive residential district. There's some rather expensive homes out there. What's your address, Mr. Cartright?"

"4893."

"And Foley's place is 4889?"

"That's right."

"Yet the two houses adjoin?"

"That's right."

"You've got rather a large lot?"

"He has."

"How about you?"

"Mine's just about average."

"Foley's wealthy?" asked Dorcas.

"Does that make any difference?" asked Cartright irritably. "Of course, he's wealthy, or he wouldn't be living out there."

"It doesn't make a difference in one sense of the word," said Dorcas slowly, "but you understand we have to use our judgment here in the office. I don't like to send out and arrest a reputable citizen, without first giving him warning. Suppose I give him a warning?"

"It won't do any good," said Cartright.

Perry Mason spoke slowly, with almost judicial dignity.

"My client," he said, "wants to be fair. You can use your judgment as to methods, Dorcas, but I am going to insist that the nuisance be abated, that the howling of the dog cease. You can see for yourself that my client is in a nervous condition. It's been brought about by the howling of the dog."

"I'm not nervous," snapped Cartright, "just a little upset, that's all."

Perry Mason nodded without saying anything. Cooper's eyes flickered to those of Mason, and his head gave an almost perceptible nod. Then the eyes swung back to Cartright.

"I think," said Dorcas slowly, "that the policy of the office would be not to prosecute until after we had given a warning. We'd write a letter to Mr. Foley, telling him that complaint had been made, and calling his attention to the county ordinance which makes the maintenance of such a dog a nuisance. We could tell him that if the dog is ill, or something, he should be confined in a hospital or kennel until after the attack has ceased."

Perry Mason glanced at Cartright, who started to say something, but was interrupted by Dorcas.

"The dog has been there for some time, Mr. Cartright?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"I don't know — two months that I know of. I've only been there two months, myself. The dog has been there that long."

"And he hasn't howled before?"

"No."

"When did it start?"

"Night before last."