30 March, 2025
- Black Lawyer
- Mar 30
- 3 min read
Updated: Apr 5
Dearest Diary,
There are some cases that test one’s legal acumen.And others that test one’s ability not to laugh in a judge’s face and whisper, “Your Honour, respectfully, this is unhinged.”
This was the latter.
I was counsel for the husband in a divorce involving a multimillion-dollar estate—oil money, inherited delusion, and a wine fridge larger than my first flat. On the surface, it was standard high-net-worth fare: community property, private school tuition, and furniture priced as if Queen Charlotte herself had upholstered it with regrets.
The husband—let’s call him Bartholomew, because of course—was a former financier turned “spiritual entrepreneur.”
He brought to every client meeting a 15-year-old emotional support Doberman named....
Keith.
Keith was... how shall I put this gently… moodily sentient. He had arthritis, an attitude, and the kind of eye contact that said, “I know what you did, and I judge you for it.”
Bartholomew claimed Keith could “sense deception.”He would stare directly at me when I questioned his valuation of the Aspen ski property. He once growled at opposing counsel at a deposition. I didn’t intervene.
Now, Diary, the litigation itself wasn’t particularly unique—except for one maddening, emotionally charged wrinkle:
The wife wanted the dog.
Not permanently.
Not full custody.
She wanted a Standard Possession Order for the Doberman.
Yes, like a child.Alternating weekends. Thursday dinners.Summer visitation with 30 days' notice.
She argued—somewhat convincingly—that she had raised Keith “from teething to trauma,” had walked him through two puppy mamas and a tax audit, and that she, not Bartholomew, had introduced him to classical music.
She insisted that the dog “found Chopin calming.”
Bartholomew refused.
He stated, and I quote, “You can’t fragment a soul-bond.”He said this in court. Unironically. Wearing a linen scarf in July.
We were stuck.
Every mediation session was reduced to a weepy standoff over a senior citizen Doberman who could no longer jump onto a sofa without assistance. All counsel and even the receptionist were exhausted. The paralegal was bewildered.
At one point, I found myself googling "can a possession schedule include CBD supplements?"
Eventually—after months of legal warfare, six settlement offers, and one incident involving a bitter email chain titled “WHO IS THE REAL PACK LEADER”—we reached a compromise:
The wife would receive right of first refusal for Keith.
In essence, if Bartholomew needed to travel, meditate, or “seek clarity in Sedona”, the wife would be notified first and given the opportunity to assume temporary dog custody. She accepted the terms with the poise of a woman who had finally secured visitation rights to her ex’s soul twin.
Keith remained silent throughout the process and refused to comment
In family law, the question is rarely “What are we fighting over?” but rather, “Why are we like this?”
They divided millions, walked away with monogrammed towels and emotional scars—and what kept us in litigation for three months was a dog who mostly sleeps.
There is no precedent for this sort of lunacy.Only paperwork, pettiness, and a paw print on the parenting plan.
I remain, as ever—Poised. Petty. Permanently on Keith’s visitation list.
Disclaimer:This diary entry is a fictional satire. Any resemblance to real people, emotionally intelligent Dobermans, or soul-bonded exes is both accidental and profoundly regrettable.
Tag someone who has shared custody with a dog and a grudge.
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