The photo showed exactly what happened. My daughter pressed against the fence with her hands over her face. The dog two feet away, hackles up. And in the corner of the frame, Craig on his porch, holding a coffee cup, laughing.
I told him I had already sent it to county animal control, along with the report I filed online while my daughter was drinking juice at the kitchen table. And the eleven other photos I had taken that year.
Craig stopped laughing.
The couple across the street, the Ruizes, walked over. Mrs. Ruiz said they had photos too. The dog had gone after their grandson in June.
Craig said I was overreacting. He said it was a friendly dog. Then he went inside and shut the door.
The animal control officer came that afternoon. Her name was Officer Dale, and she had clearly done this a hundred times. She talked to me, looked at the photos, talked to the Ruizes, then walked across to Craig and knocked.
She was there forty minutes. When she left, she stopped by my porch. She said the county has a leash law and a dangerous dog process, and that Craig was being cited. The dog was not in trouble. Craig was. He had thirty days to put up a fence and get the dog into a training class, or it would go further.
For a whole year I thought I was the only one who saw it, and all it took was one photo to prove the whole street had been seeing it too.
My daughter slept in our bed that night. She kept asking if the dog would come back.
Craig built the fence in nine days. A real one, six feet tall. He did not say a word to anybody while he did it.
Then, about two months later, there was a knock on our door. It was Craig, and the dog was on a short leash, sitting perfectly still beside him.
He said the dog had finished the training class. He said the trainer told him the dog was not mean, just a young herding breed with no job and no rules, and chasing kids was his way of herding. He said that was on him, not the dog.
Then he said he was sorry. He said it right to my daughter, who was hiding behind my leg. He said he should never have laughed. He said he was sorry he scared her.
My daughter looked at the dog for a long time. The dog did not move. Then Craig asked her if she wanted to see a trick. He said sit, and the dog sat. He said down, and the dog lay down. He said paw, and the dog lifted one paw right toward her.
She shook it. She giggled.
His name is Scout. My daughter walks him on Saturday mornings now, with Craig holding the other leash. My garden came back in the spring. Craig helped me replant the tomatoes.
I still have that photo on my phone. I have not needed to send it anywhere else.