I didn’t spend any time with the new puppy because of the following bad experience:

It was the winter of 1999 and middle school was going great. On an early February morning I was wandering around the Bronx with a puppy, as sixth graders often do, when four policemen jumped out of a car. “NYPD. Freeze,” they yelled to a man, “Put your hands up.” The suspect ignored them. I looked on in horror. Then suddenly, he reached into his jacket.

“Bark! He’s definitely pulling out a gun! Bark bark!” the puppy yelled. The officers opened fire, squeezing off forty-one shots, hitting the man nineteen times and killing him on the spot in once of the cruelest and most violent arrays of police brutality in our nation’s history.

Well it turns out it wasn’t a gun. I reprimanded my new friend. “That’s a bad puppy!” I even hit him with a rolled up newspaper. But I just couldn’t stay mad at him. And either could the world. The only thing a jury could have convicted him of was being too cute.

That day I learned something from my little friend. I think we all did. First and foremost, don’t shoot a man who is reaching for his wallet. Second, you can get away with anything if you’re cute enough. That’s right, I’m looking at you Mr. Cheney.