Like many families, our family growing up had its own troublemaker and juvenile delinquent.

It just happened that our family’s troublemaker and juvenile delinquent was four-legged.

Does this look like a dog who was on a first name basis with the dog catcher? Because it is.
The infamous Sundance. Note: Sundance is quite possible the only black dog in history to have “sun” as part of his name.

Sundance, the dog I grew up with, was infamously bad. He had multiple run-ins with the police over the years and was well-known around the neighborhood as a troublemaker. He was also a bad influence – like the time he got me involved with the police.

As a newly-minted licensed driver, I was always up for taking a ride in the car and enjoying my newfound freedom. Lucky for me, I had a built-in passenger: Sundance was never one to pass up a ride in the car. He’d sit at the front of the car, waiting to see a dog or other offending creature on the side of the road, before barking wildly at it as we passed. Or he’d joyously stick his head out the window, sniffing the world as it flew by. When it came time to get out of the car, it was always a question as to whether he’d get out, or decide to stay in the car indefinitely, in the hope that you would either (a) take him out again, or (b) leave the keys, put the car in gear, and let him take himself for a ride.

On this particular drive, like many before it, Sundance and I came home and he refused to get out of the car. I should note that, by “refused to get out of the car,” I mean he turned into a growling, snapping 33-pound furball of terror. There was no way he was getting out of the car without a fight, and I wasn’t about to make him get out when he was in that state, particularly as it was a nice spring day in Wisconsin, and I knew Sundance would eventually come out when he was good and ready.

Thus, I found myself alone in the house, with the dog patiently awaiting someone to return to the car and chauffeur him around.

Some time later, I heard a knock on the front door. Abandoning my reading, I opened up the door to see a uniformed police officer standing on our home’s small front stoop.

Immediately, I ran a list of my most recent transgressions through my mind – speeding (but only 5 miles per hour or less over the limit, lest I get pulled over), yelling at my siblings, getting to class slightly late thanks to taking a few extra minutes to drop off of a library book – and wondered which rose to the level of a home visit by the police. Most importantly, I silently began panicking, realizing that this was definitely going to affect my ability to get into a top ten college.

“Hi Officer,” I opened the screen door – entirely unnecessarily, as we could have talked through the screen.

“Is that your car in the street?” He glared at me, which only increased my panic; perhaps he wasn’t here for one of my transgressions but for something even worse that one of my siblings might have done.

The officer motion toward my car, a 1980 green Pontiac Bonneville. Did I mention this was 1996? It was not a cool car to anyone but me, who thought it was the greatest car ever, because (a) it belonged to me, and (b) I was in high school.

“Yup!” I said, looking at my car, which was in front of the officer’s cruiser, which had its lights flashing. This seemed excessive, but I suppose had my car had flashing lights, I would have used them at any and all chances.

“Do you know there’s a dog in there?”

“Yes,” I said. Apparently, he was not at my house to deal with my recent tardiness to class.

“We’ve had a complaint. You can’t leave your dog in the car.”

“Yeah, well, he won’t come out.”

“What?”

“The dog, Sundance,” at the mention of the dog’s name, the officer’s eyes flashed a look of recognition, as if the dog’s reputation for misbehavior had preceded him, “he won’t come out of the car.”

“He won’t come out of the car? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, you’re welcome to attempt to get him out yourself. But it isn’t going to go well.”

“Fine,” the officer motioned toward the car, obviously not believing the words coming from my high school self. I followed him out to the curb.

As we approached the car, Sundance positioned himself in the front seat of the car. I could see the special glint in his eyes that always suggested he was about to engage in one of his favorite activities, a number of which involved inflicting some level of terror into the hearts of his family, their friends and all other creatures on the planet.

The officer appeared to have sensed something was about to happen, and he slowly put his hand on the handle of the front door. As he did, Sundance unleashed a torrent of barking that made no secret of his ill-intent toward the officer. Just to be on the safe side regarding his intent to harm the police officer if given the chance, Sundance promptly lobbed all 33 pounds of himself at the door while growling, continuing to bark and pulling back his lips in a snarl.

The officer promptly let go of the door handle and took two steps back.

“So,” the officer said, turning slightly toward me while keeping an eye on Sundance, who continued his barking, “as soon as that dog calms down, will you take him in the house?”

“Of course, officer,” I said. The officer – still keeping an eye on Sundance – walked back to his cruiser, got in, turned off its lights, and drove away. For his part, Sundance looked pleased as I walked back into the house. I knew better than to make an attempt to get him out at this point. He’d come out when he was good and ready.

Unless, of course, I decided to take him on a car ride before then.