The Good Witness Stand

“I was squeezing one out in the backyard when I heard the gunshot.”

The DA looked from the witness stand to the judge. The judge shrugged.

The DA moved the microphone closer to Duke’s snout. “Could you say that again, for the record, and be specific with what you were doing in the backyard, please?”

“Going to the bathroom. Taking a crap. And that’s when I heard the gunshot.”

“And what did you do?” the DA said nodding and gesturing grandly to the jury.

“I ran — to — ,” Duke said but the microphone hummed and murmured and made no sense.

“Your honor?” the DA said.

The old judge groaned. He plunked a few buttons on his laptop. Then he leaned over the bench and snapped his fingers next to the microphone. “Here, Duke, here. Sit up right here.” He glanced across the courtroom. “Bailiff, bring me a few more treats.”

The bailiff did. The judge showed them to Duke.

“Now, sit.” He waved the treats, gave one to Duke and sat back into the bench.

“Thank you, your honor,” the DA continued. “For the record, Duke, can you repeat your answer on what you did after you heard the gunshot?”

Duke was trembling a little bit. That may have been nerves or that Duke was getting tired of sitting in the witness stand. His front paws kept slipping on the leather.

“You’re doing great,” the DA added. “Keep close to that big microphone so we all understand you.”

Duke did as he was told. “At first I was scared. It was so loud. But then I heard strange voices in my house. So I ran in, through my door.”

“And what did you see — actually, I’d like to reword that question; what did you smell? Stay close to that microphone, Duke.”

“I smelled someone I didn’t recognize.”

“And do you smell him here today?”

“Yes, right there.”

The DA gestured again, grandly, to the jury.

“And then what did you see?” the DA continued.

“He was standing over The Hands That Feed, shouting questions I didn’t understand.”

“Are you able to repeat them now?”

Duke waged his big shepherd head Yes.

“Go ahead, Duke.”

“He said, ‘What’s the combination? Where are your keys?’ ”

“But he didn’t see you?”

Duke waged his big shepherd head No.

“And what did you do?”

“I jumped, bit his neck, held him until The Hands That Feed told me to let him go. They had the gun then.”

“Thank you, Duke. That’s all. You’ve been a very good boy.”

[Caleb Garling is a writer in San Francisco and the author of The St George’s Angling Club, a novel about the outdoors.]