JUNEAU, Alaska – No one wants to point fingers and no one will name names, but tightlipped employees at the Alaska state Capitol will allow that it was “a large dog,” “a four-legged dog,” who spoiled the party for everyone.
Security cameras captured the dog, on its first – and last – visit to the Capitol, leaving a sizable deposit in front of the fourth-floor elevators.
“We’d had several incidents through the interim and that was probably the icing on the cake,” said building manager Don Johnston, who viewed the videotapes to identify the culprit.
A legislative committee last week banned dogs from the building, making the political atmosphere in Juneau a little less warm and fuzzy and a little more dog-eat-dog.
Citing the potential for damage to expensive new carpeting and for liability in the case of a dog bite, the committee made it a firing offense for legislative staff to bring in a pet. Service animals are exempt. Lawmakers were threatened with a $25 fine.
Though he claims his dog, Izzy, an occasional visitor to the Capitol, is “better behaved than many of the people in the building,” Sen. Kim Elton voted for the ban.
“Having dogs in the building bothered some people. I know some people have allergies, and not everybody’s dog is a good citizen,” said the Juneau Democrat.
Izzy is just the tip of a long tale of dogs frequenting the Capitol in a city that loves its canines.
Juneau boasts almost one dog for every three of its 30,000 residents. Issues such as leash requirements on trails can pack the city assembly chambers with ardent and vocal dog-loving protesters.
That can be intimidating for critics of canines and their doting owners, said local humane society director Chava Lee.
Her office receives numerous complaints from the Capitol during the four-month legislative session, and the calls all have an eerie similarity.
“They begin like this: ‘Hi, I don’t want to give my name, and I want you to know that I love dogs, but …’” Lee said. “There’s always an ‘I love dogs’ and a ‘but,’ and then you know.”
The callers then go on to complain about dog hair, about dogs jumping on them, about “accidents.” Some expect Lee to send over a team to inspect the mess and identify the dog. Others are just looking for advice.
Lee recommends they talk to the owner about the problem early on.
But in the hotbed of Capitol politics, people tend to shy away from confrontations over dogs, particularly those dogs – er, dog owners – with clout.
Late House Speaker Ramona Barnes, a Republican who served from 1978 to 1998, expected her aides to take her miniature Schnauzer, Muffin, for walks.
“You’d also see other legislators being conned into walking her dog when she was house speaker,” said Gregg Erickson, a longtime political observer and economist, who remembers a powerful Anchorage senator admitting that it was one way to get his bill out of committee.
But the days of the dog wagging the system are over.
Lee said it’s too bad a few bad dogs – and owners – can spoil it for the rest, but she understands why the ban was put it place.
There are often political messes in the Capitol, said Lee, “but people would like to keep it off the floors.”
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