Quick, take a quick look at this picture. What’s the first thing that comes to mind?
An outtake from an awkward office Christmas card photo shoot? An ad for the new matching menswear/dogswear collection at Nordstrom? A pooch being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment?
We see a glossy publicity shot for a new cable TV series, available only to Click! subscribers. It’s a wacky sitcom about a stern county prosecuting attorney and the four-legged sidekick he adopts from the humane society.
In the pilot episode, the prosecutor teaches the dog the essentials of criminal law while the dog teaches the prosecutor how to smile again. He grooms her into a crackerjack assistant DA who sinks her teeth into every case and refuses to roll over during plea negotiations.
The name of the show is in development, but executive producers have identified some favorites:
“All Mark and No Bite.” “Fido and the Man.” “The Lawyer Whisperer.” “Paw and Order.” “I Love Lindquist.” “The Odd Couple.”
In case the show really takes off, writers are already working on scripts for a full-length motion picture, with a few different working titles:
“All Dogs Go to Prison,” “Mark L. & Me.” “101 Depositions.”
Ah, but we dogress — sorry, digress.
This photo is actually taken from the latest issue of our Pierce County prosecutor’s electronic newsletter, “On the Record.” The publication features images and articles about people in the prosecutor’s office, a few of whom are surprisingly not named Mark Lindquist.
At the top of the e-newsletter, the Rushmore-worthy countenance of Lindquist gazes out paternally, his head blown up to epic proportions next to Mount Rainier, his well-coiffed hair rising higher than the 14,411-foot summit.
But enough about him, already.
Let’s talk about that dog: Her story is quite sweet, really.
Kiley is a trained victim and witness support dog for the prosecutor’s office. You might have seen the Labrador retriever padding around the downtown Tacoma courthouse.
Her job description? To help comfort and elicit testimony from shy or traumatized crime victims and witnesses. “Kiley’s stable and calming presence puts a person at ease when a human can’t,” according to the e-newsletter.
Can’t argue with that logic. But here’s a piece of advice for Kiley: If you want to put folks even more at ease, ask the boss if you can shed the necktie.
Gee whiz, that thing looks more uncomfortable than a shock collar.
Now, back to our sitcom scripts:
• Episode 2: In Kiley’s first trial as lead litigator, Superior Court Judge Ronald Culpepper declares her out of order for nuzzling his crotch. “And you didn’t even ask if you could approach the bench!” says the exasperated judge. (Cue laugh track.)
• Episode 3: Kiley represents herself in a malpractice suit against a spay-and-neuter clinic.
• Episode 4: In the season’s most dramatic moment, Kiley quits the prosecutor’s office and takes a job with a private defense firm. Feeling betrayed, Prosecutor Mark lashes out and calls her an ambulance chaser.
Leaving on a high note: Sharon Foster, that is. She’s the soon-to-retire chairwoman of the state Liquor Control Board, which also makes her the state's marijuana-bureaucrat-in-chief.
Foster had her knee replaced a month ago and said doctors sent her home with heavy painkillers.
"I have enough oxycodone to go on the black market," she said.
Those drugs, she decided, were not for her. So she opted this week to use the product she’s been regulating for the past two years.
Pray tell, where did Foster get her hands on a marijuana brownie? A state-licensed retail store? A medical marijuana outlet? Her agency's evidence room?
She wouldn’t say. But she did acknowledge it was her dessert Sunday night.
And again Monday night. And Tuesday night.
It seemed to help.
"By the time I went to bed, which was maybe an hour and a half or two hours after I ate this brownie — piece of brownie — I didn't feel anything," Foster told our TNT statehouse scribe.
"So all I know is, I was relaxed enough to go to sleep. So if I was high, I don't know it."
Our humble apologies: A short item in last week’s column might have upset some folks down the road at Pacific Lutheran University.
We said PLU was a perfect place to hold a discussion about the racial dynamics surrounding Ferguson, Missouri, because of Luteland’s tremendous diversity — notably, the Norwegians, Swedes and Danes.
If anyone was offended, we extend our regrets. If anyone felt slighted, we set the record straight now.
We forgot the Finns.