I showed her on my phone. She watched it three times without speaking. On the third time she paused it on the frame where the figure's right hand was clearest and zoomed in with two fingers, and looked at it for a long time.
Then she gave me the paperwork.
The county ordinance, she explained, allowed Animal Services to designate a dog a nuisance animal after a finding of repeated violations, and to designate a dog dangerous after a finding that it had bitten, attacked, or threatened a person without provocation. A nuisance designation came with fines and conditions. A dangerous designation came with conditions so expensive and restrictive that most people couldn't meet them, and if they couldn't, the dog could be ordered surrendered. The HOA had requested both. There would be an administrative hearing before a county hearing officer in three weeks. I had the right to be represented, to present evidence, and to call witnesses.
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, nothing changes," she said. "Unless there's a new incident involving a threat to a person. If that happens, the ordinance gives me authority to impound pending the hearing." She said it flatly, the way you'd tell someone the speed limit. "So my advice to you, Mrs. Kowal, is to keep him on a short leash, stay off common property entirely, and keep that doorbell camera running."
At the door, she stopped and looked back at Rook on his bed. He lifted his head and looked at her, his ears soft, his tail thumping twice on the cushion.
"He worked for Fairfield?" she said.
"Seven years."
"My cousin's a deputy over there," she said. "Patrol. He said there was a K9 named Rook who found a little boy in a cornfield in a snowstorm one year."
"That was him."