No Ordinary Robbery

Not a Python. A rattlesnake, i think - snapped in Albuquerque by my own, shaking hand

It was just another day in my life as a defence lawyer in a small Scottish town. My routine week had been taken up with defending minor traffic infringements and just as minor assaults.

But things were about to take a peculiar and most interesting turn when a well spoken and suitably attired gentleman burst into my office.

I asked him to take a seat and tell me who he was and what was his problem. He introduced himself as;

Homer Winterbottom Bateman, Master of Philosophy and Religious Studies at The Laird of Balmawhapple Preparatory College for Boys in Perthshire and that he was to be charged with robbery.

‘Ruinous for a person of my status’, he added.

My ears pricked up. I got out my yellow ‘legal’ pad and said I would be taking notes, asking whether it would be acceptable to call him Homer or would he prefer another title.

He was happy with Homer, but added, to prevent any future confusion, at college I am referred to as Master Bateman.

Even when not addressing me directly I sometimes hear the boys calling me that. I would expect nothing less.

Hmmm, I thought, ’do they?’

‘So what happened to make you think you are being investigated for robbery,’ I asked?

Homer continued, ‘I have a pedigree Border Terrier, a beautiful wee dog, Brutus. Just the right age for breeding. I searched around and found, through the Border Terrier Club, a suitable, well bred bitch only a few miles from where I live. I did not know the owners, Mr and Mrs Smellie . Anyway, last weekend I took the bull by the horns, so to speak, and drove over to broach the subject with the Smellies. I did not take Brutus with me.

My very own Border Terrier, Fruin, modelling for the story

They seemed a nice couple at first, not in their prime I reckoned and education wise, probably not top drawer.

Whilst we spoke at their front door, their wee dog, Tambi, scuttled around in the garden.

It was a sweet wee dog and I could see the possibilities of her and Brutus getting together. I also saw how much they were attached to their dog.

I apologised for calling unannounced and explained the purpose of my visit. I certainly did not reckon to their response. They were shocked that I had the temerity to come to there home, a complete stranger and ask them to turn their wee dog into, quote,

‘a bloody prostitute’.

I was taken aback and protested, perhaps a smidgeon too vehemently. In fact I think I might have raised my voice a tad and called them stupid. I cannot be sure. What is certain however, tempers did flare.

They swore at me and told me to leave their garden. I stood my ground and tried reasoning with them.

You need to understand, being the Head of Philosophy and Religious Studies at such a prestigious college, I am not to be trifled with, particularly by people like them, who probably spend most of their time between playing bingo and watching soaps.

I sensed Homer was getting upset and intervened. Homer, I am not sure where the robbery comes in, can you tell me more about that?

‘It was all a dreadful accident. I had my pet python, Buttercup, with me. I left her in the car, cosy and curled up. I have no idea how she got out, but suddenly there she was, in the garden. Tambi, obviously an inquisitive little dog, ran over towards Buttercup to investigate. Things kind of got out of hand at that point.

I am having trouble remembering every detail. But Mr Smellie definitely grabbed a garden rake and ran towards Buttercup. I panicked and threw myself at him, like a rugby tackle, I did play rugby some years ago. We fell to the ground.

It was during the struggle that I felt a tremendous pain across my shoulders. Mrs Smellie had pummelled me with the washing line stretcher pole. I grabbed her leg and pulled her on top of me. It was mayhem,

like a second rate, poorly scripted porn movie.

Buttercup is a clever python and saw her chance. With the threesome rolling about on the lawn and obviously distracted, she quickly moved in, snatched the dog and slithered of through the hedge.

Despite the three of us reaching a tentative truce to allow a search to take place, we were too late and we never saw Tambi again.

Eventually I traced Buttercup near my car. She had a tell-tale bulge. I knew it was not a pregnancy so, to save further mis understanding, I got her in the car and sped off.

They must have got my car number, because later that day, two police officers called at my house and said they were in the early stages of the investigation, but a robbery charge was probably pending.

I explained to Homer that Robbery constitutes the felonious appropriation of property by means of violence or threats of violence. While violence is an essential element, it need not take the form of actual physical assault. It is sufficient that the victim is compelled to submit to the appropriation of his or her property under fear of immediate personal injury. Also, the violence must have been used with theftuous intent.

I further explained; in light of the circumstances, as you relate them, it seems there was an element of violence, and there is little doubt property was taken, but was there theftuous intent on your part?

My goodness no, Homer replied. The police are alleging, based on listening to the Smellie’s, that my plan all along had been to threaten the Smellies with Buttercup and when they were distracted, snatch Tambi and make off with her.

That is all wrong, I only went to enquire about the possibility of the bitch and my Brutus getting together, so to speak. I could never have foreseen what happened next.

According to herpetologists, Pythons can go for up to two years between meals. I had fed Buttercup just two days ago, so I was as shocked as the Smellies when Buttercup appeared in their garden and slithered off with Tambi.

It was a catastrophic mishap, an unforeseen calamity.

No, they are making it all up, it was not like that, stupid people, they know nothing about Buttercup.

One of the officers had the cheek to say, ‘An arranged marriage gone wrong’.

I asked him again if there was any truth in the Smellies claim that he had indeed threatened them with Buttercup, all with the intention of stealing their dog?

Master Bateman, who looked in shock, said, absolutely not. It was a misfortunate accident. Buttercup is a big softy and would not harm a soul.

I was going to mention where Tambi finished up, however thought better of it and drew a veil over proceedings at that point, telling Master Bateman to call me the instant the police got back in touch with him, enjoining him to take heed of the opening words of their caution;

‘you are not obliged to say anything’. So, do just that, ‘say nothing’.

As Master Bateman left my office I smiled and mused;

‘now that was no ordinary robbery’.