RIP Debbie

20250717

Prompt from the "Kev's Odyssey" series.

Judge Evans took her seat and inspected the court room. This case technically being a minor incident - the death of a pet chicken - she was presiding alone. She had reservations about that decision and had requested that the case be handled by a magistrate panel, preferably of people experienced with werewolves, but her request had been denied.
Whoever made that decision had added an info pack about werewolves to the file, but it was clearly a print-out from the Bureau of Supernatural Relations and painfully basic.
The defendant squatting hunched in the booth matched expectations; stocky build, bushy unibrow, prominent nose. His anxiety was plain and understandable; if he had broken into someone’s garden and chicken coop to hunt, it would be a massive demerit against him and make him unemployable or worse. Nobody wanted the risks associated with a feral werewolf.
On the other side of the room sat the prosecution, her eyes rimmed with grief and mouth tight with righteous fury. Equally understandable; someone breaking into your premises and killing a loved one was the stuff of nightmares.
And in between sat Evans, armed with a printout, a briefing, and a duty to find justice.
Let the proceedings begin.
The initial brief was short and to the point; Ms Turner had heard a commotion and rushed to her window, and seen the accused (Michael Morris) in wolf form in the field behind her house ripping apart a chicken. Her hutch was open, her flock panicking, and she realised that the chicken being eaten in front of her was one of hers (“Debbie”). She called the police and the accused was apprehended without issue. The blood on him had been matched to Debbie.
Her lawyer wanted the accused done for breaking and entering, theft, emotional damage, and animal cruelty.
Evans indicated for the defence to begin cross-examination, and the barrister readily stood.
“Your Honour, my client says that while he did kill the chicken Debbie, he did not enter Ms Turner’s property. He was going for a run on the common which lies north of Ms Turner’s house and encountered a chicken, which he assumed to be feral.”
“Then how-” Ms Turner began furiously, then paused as her lawyer gently placed a hand on her arm.
“Ms Turner.” The defender’s expression was sympathetic. “I understand that this is very painful for you. But I must ask you to think back. Did you see any evidence that Mr Morris entered your property?”
Ms Turner positively erupted. “HE HAD MY CHICKEN!!”
“Yes. He did. And he’s sorry. But did you see anything to prove that he had been inside your fence?”
That made Ms Turner falter. She chewed on her lip, brow furrowing.
The defender pointed to a paper. “This police report states that blood and feathers were found in the field, not the garden, and they saw no signs of damage or tampering to the hutch. Is that correct?”
Ms Turner looked at the files in front of her, which presumably held a copy. “Yyyyyes…”
“Then is there anything to suggest that Mr Morris entered your property and stole your chicken, rather than encountering an escaped Debbie in a field and making a tragic mistake?”
Ms Turner stammered “Well, but, how would she get over the fence? They can’t - oh, but I suppose if she got up on the hutch first… but I can’t think why she’d try to get out, she never had before… and a wolf could jump a fence easily, couldn’t it?”
“I believe Mr Morris likely could jump a standard eight-foot privacy fence such as the one described.” The defender allowed. “However, I hold there is no evidence he did. It certainly would have been very difficult for him to jump the fence, open the hutch, and jump back over the fence with a chicken, all in the time it took for Ms Turner to react to hearing her pets’ distress. Particularly since I assume your hutch could not be opened using paws?”
“Oh, no, it…” Ms Turner trailed off, staring pensively at Mr Morris, whose melted composure communicated clear remorse.
“I am sorry.” He said meekly. “When she burst out of the brush in front of me I thought she was a pigeon, and then with there being no farms about I thought she must be feral, and if I’d only thought a moment more I might have remembered that folks keep them as pets, and not…” He faltered with a wince. “W-whatever the fine is for, for killing someone’s pet is, I-”
The defender firmly squeezed his shoulder and interrupted. “Charges would depend on whether the pet had been properly secured or not.”
The prosecutor leant forward to examine Ms Turner’s uncertain expression, then stood and addressed Evans. “Your Honour, I would like a moment to review the evidence with my client and discuss possible next steps.”
“Granted.” Judge Evans said readily. “You may also wish to discuss whether the Restorative Justice court might be a viable solution for her case.”
“I certainly will.” The prosecutor turned in his seat and began murmuring to Ms Turner, who was staring at the prepared papers.
Across the room the defender was similarly in earnest hushed conversation with Mr Morris, who looked far less anxious - though still deeply miserable.
Judge Evans took a moment to hope that her lack of expertise may not matter. Sometimes justice found its own path. And sometimes mutual understanding and remorse was all the justice that could be had.

Prompt was “Trials”.