That's Belfast! (A Save Lennox Post)

First, a bit of background.

Two years ago, in Belfast, a big black dog named Lennox was seized for the crime of being big and black.

Lennox never bit anyone. Never chased anyone. Never had a complaint spoken against him. He had a proper license. He had a good home. The Dog Wardens (that's apparently what Belfastians call the otherwise unemployable and the feeble-minded) were only at Lennox's home because they went to the wrong address. But because the Belfast Dog Wardens deemed him big and black, they also decided, using all six of their brain cells, that Lennox was a Pit Bull, a breed prohibited in Belfast.

What followed was a travesty. Photographs surfaced showing poor Lennox cowering in a tiny cage, surrounded by piles of his own feces. The official response by the Belfast City Council to these photos was a shrug and a puzzled 'Wait, what's wrong with fecal matter at one's feet?'

Two years passed. Various judges heard the claims of good behavior and non-Pit-Bullness. One of the Dog Wardens even perjured herself by claiming she was terrified of Lennox, despite a number of photos which showed the woman sitting calmly with Lennox, petting Lennox, even letting Lennox give her big sloppy dog-kisses.

A series of increasingly-corpulent Belfastian judges listened to all the evidence and wobbled their ponderous chins like Jabba the Hut sucking down a fifty-gallon drum of jello before blurting 'Off with his head!'

They even brought in a so-called 'dog expert,' who, after a brief interval of pointing at crows and insisting they were Welsh Corgies, claimed Lennox was not a Pit Bull, but was a settee, and could be dangerous, maybe, I see a lamp, what's a Pit Bull anyway?

You can read my previous comments on the matter here.

Today, though, marked the end for poor Lennox. The final judge, who I will not grace with even a name because I don't believe in adding Google points to bottom-feeding slime-worms, decreed that Lennox be put down at once.

His family won't even be allowed to say goodbye.

That's Belfast.

You've got your grossly incompetent, profoundly moronic Dog Wardens, who equate big and black with deadly slavering killing machine. You've got your City Council, who spend two years refusing against all evidence that the Wardens might have made a mistake. And you've got the absolute worst judges this side of the Fifth Galactic Arm, because they heard the evidence but clearly didn't understand enough of the big words to see what an idiotic case the Wardens and the Council brought against poor Lennox.

That's Belfast. Stupidity powered by arrogance compounded by incompetence.

Two years, they kept this poor friendly dog in a tiny metal cage. Two years, they put his family through Hell.

That's Belfast.

By now, I imagine poor Lennox is gone. And I imagine that the Belfast City Council and the Dog Wardens and the pudding-headed judges are all relieved that the whole business is history.

Except it isn't. You backwater, inbred Belfastian buffoons are about to learn, the hard way, what sort of impact negative press on the Web has on blighted little slums such as the one you call home.  There are those of us out here, well beyond the heaps of garbage that line your borders, who won't let people forget who and what you are.

So by all means, let's talk about Belfast. Let's talk about their tiny little cages, their ignorant and cruel civil servants, and the nasty air of casual cruelty that hangs over the whole wretched place like some persistent, noxious fog.

Because that's Belfast.

Rest easy, Lennox. None of this was your fault. No.

That too belongs to Belfast.

Please copy and paste this blog, or at least the URL, to the Lord Mayor of Belfast, email addy below:

Please be advised that the customary title for the Lord Mayor of Belfast is 'Peaches.' Or 'Twitface,' if you're feeling nobby.