“Litigation. A trial.”
“Oh. You’re a lawyer?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m a witness.”
“Was it Mrs. Peacock? With a candlestick? In the conservatory?” I deadpan.
He laughs and says, “No one was murdered, thank goodness. It’s a civil litigation.”
“So what happened? Were you a witness to a slip and fall? Banana peel in a grocery store?”
“No. I’m actually an expert witness,” he says, looking proud.
“Nice!” I say as the bartender returns with my martini, placing it on the bar in front of me. I thank him and take a sip.
“Would you like to start a tab?” the bartender asks.
“Definitely,” I say.
I take a second sip. I already feel better.
“So. What kind of an expert are you?” I ask, turning back to Gus.
“I’m a cynologist,” he says, sitting up straighter on his stool.
“A who?”
“It’s like a canine specialist.”
“Like a dog trainer?”
“More like a dog behaviorist, though I have trained some dogs in my day.”
“So are you, like, just obsessed with dogs?”
“I love them. And I respect them. Both my parents are legally blind. We always had Seeing Eye dogs.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s really interesting.”
He nods and says, “Yes. Dogs are fascinating.”
“What’s the most interesting fact you can tell me about them?”
“How long do you have?” He smiles.
“All day. And night,” I say with a wink. I know I’m being cheesy, but I can tell he likes it.
“Okay. Interesting facts,” he says, his face lighting up even more. “Let’s see…. So dogs can tell when we’re sad. They can read all sorts of human emotions. Anxiety and worry and depression. They internalize those feelings and feel worries themselves…. What else?…Prolonged eye contact with a dog releases oxytocin.”
“For the person or dog?”
“Both.”
I nod. “What else you got?”
“Um…Dogs have associative learning capabilities. There are two main types. Classical or Pavlovian conditioning, and operant or Skinnerian conditioning.”
“I know Pavlov! The bell!”
“Yeah. That’s a basic example. But the point is—they can learn associations between contiguous events…. Like, when you put a certain pair of tennis shoes on, they know they’re going to be walked. Some dogs can discern the sound of your automobile—”
“Your automobile, huh?” I say teasingly.
He laughs and says, “Sorry. They know the sound of your car. They can hear it up to a mile away.”
“Impressive,” I say. “So what’s this trial about?”
“It’s a dog bite situation—”
“And you’re defending the dog?”
“Kind of. Yeah. I’m testifying for the dog owner.”
“Who did the dog bite?”
“A neighbor.”
“A child?”
“No. An adult. Who happens to be six-foot-six and was trespassing—”
“To do something nefarious?”
“Well, no. But the dog didn’t know that.”
“So you’re basically testifying that it wasn’t the dog’s fault?”
“I’m not opining on fault or liability. I’m simply explaining that the dog was likely traumatized by something very specific based in her past—maybe another tall adult male—and that the circumstances aren’t likely to present themselves again. Basically, I don’t think the pup should be put down—”
“You think he will be?”
“She. And hopefully not. But likely yes.”
“Wow. That’s sad.”
“Very.”
“Where are you from?”
