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correct,” he says.
    “What does it mean to be the owner of a dog?” I ask.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “I mean, in the eyes of the animal control system, if I buy a dog, I then own it?”
    He nods. “Yes.”
    “And then that ownership means I have responsibility for it?”
    “Yes.”
    “What if I sell it?” I ask.
    Hatchet cuts in. “Mr. Carpenter, do you remember my use of the word ‘brief’?”
    I nod. “I do, Your Honor. I committed it to memory. I’m almost finished here.”
    He lets me continue, so I repeat the question for Billick. “And if I sell the dog? Who owns it then?”
    He seems confused. “Well, the person you sell it to.”
    I walk over to the defense table, and Kevin hands me two pieces of paper. I then bring them over to the bench. “Your Honor, I would like to submit these two documents as defense exhibits one and two.”
    “What is their substance?” Hatchet asks.
    “Number one is a bill of sale, confirming that Warren Shaheen sold me the dog referred to as ‘Yogi’ yesterday afternoon for the sum of fifty dollars. Number two is my declaration of ownership and my intention to take full responsibility for Yogi as his sole owner.”
    “So you are now the dog’s owner?” Hatchet asks.
    “Yes, Your Honor. Under the terms of ownership as Mr. Billick has just defined them.”
    Hatchet thinks for a moment, then turns to Billick. “Give the man his dog.”
    “Yes, Your Honor.” Billick says, smiling himself as the gallery breaks out in applause.
    We’ve won, but I can’t help myself. “Your Honor, a dog’s honor was besmirched here. I would like to call a trainer to the witness stand, to testify that Yogi is a sweet and loving dog.”
    “Mr. Carpenter…,” Hatchet says. He usually doesn’t have to say any more, but I’m having fun with this, so I continue.
    “Your Honor, Yogi now has his freedom, but where does he go to get back his reputation?”
    “Perhaps it would help if I held his lawyer in contempt,” Hatchet says. I’m not sure, but I actually may see a twinkle in his eye.
    “Have a lovely day, Your Honor.”
    With that, he slams down his gavel. “This hearing is concluded.”

I T HAS TAKEN a while, but I finally understand the joy of sex, and I am now prepared to reveal it to the world.
    The purest joy of sex comes from not having to think about it.
    About a year ago the person who filled the double role of private investigator and undisputed love of my life, Laurie Collins, left to become the chief of police of Findlay, Wisconsin, her hometown.
    We had no contact whatsoever for the next four and a half months, as I tried to convince myself that I hated her. It worked until she called me and asked me to come to Wisconsin to take on a case of a young man accused of a double homicide but whom she considered innocent.
    I spent four months in the frozen tundra, won the case, ate a lot of bratwurst, and reconnected with Laurie. When it was time to leave, neither of us could bear the prospect of splitting up again, so we agreed to maintain a long- distance relationship, seeing each other whenever either of us could get away. It’s worked fairly well; since then I’ve gone to Wisconsin three times, and she’s come to Paterson once.
    The point of all this is that I no longer have to think about sex or wonder if and when I’m going to have it. When I see Laurie, I’m going to, and when we’re apart, I’m not. It’s incredibly freeing, and pretty much the first time since high school that I’ve spent no time at all wondering whether sex was imminent or possible.
    There are other, side benefits as well. For instance, I save gallons of water by cutting back on showers. I always want to be clean, but I don’t have to be “naked in bed with someone” clean, when there’s no chance that’s going to happen. I don’t have to wash the sheets as often; my mouthwash frequency is cut by at least 30 percent… The positives go on and on.
    I haven’t talked to