The Chicken Fight

The judge’s chambers were just what you would expect.  The walls were clad in mahogany paneling and burgundy leather chairs lined the table. I was assisting my boss Max that day, as I had been on the job just two weeks and had only been a “real” lawyer for a few weeks before that.

We all stood as the judge entered the chambers. The judge was in his 70s and a little hunched over. He had a full head of white hair.  His craggy face bore a permanent scowl. Max whispered to me, “That’s Judge Wilson, a real ‘good ole’ boy’ who was raised in the country.”   “Jeez”, I thought, I’m glad I‘m not arguing in front of this guy.”

Max leaned over to me, “Dave, you’ve done all the research; I’m going to let you argue this.”  After recovering from the shock, I protested, “But Max, I’ve never argued in court.”  Max chuckled:  “I guess you’ll learn. And by the way Dave, I don’t think your arguments are going to fly.”  “Great”, I thought, “not only am I a novice, now I’m being told I have a bad case.”

Indeed, aside from my lack of experience, I had a bigger hurdle.  I represented the County and was arguing that cock-fighting was illegal, despite the fact that it had been going on openly in our town for over 100 years.  The County was fairly urban, but there was a substantial rural and agricultural population, and cock-fighting was a way of life.  The key to my position was that cock-fighting violated the laws prohibiting cruelty to animals.

After making my arguments and citing all the applicable cases, the opposition offered its self-assured rebuttal:  “Judge, we been doin’ this a long time and nobody ever stopped us. It ain’t cruel, it’s a sport.”

After the last arguments were made, Judge Wilson looked at the court file for a few minutes and stood up.  He looked at me and said, “That dog won’t hunt.” 

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I wrote this for the Week 85 Trifecta Writing Challenge where we are to write 33-333 words using the word “fly” in the context of something moving or passing. 

Your comments are appreciated.