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My faith in the place was summarily shattered late last year by a front-page story in the local newspaper. The city was vigorously prosecuting Joni Strickfaden, a longtime owner/operator of Apples & Pears Daycare Center. This was not a hideous daycare-child-abuse sort of crime, nor was Strickfaden being accused of any financial perfidy.

Her offense? She brings newborn farm animals, including chicks, to her daycare center as part of an annual springtime tradition she has celebrated for more than 12 years.

This is not a NIMBY story either. Strickfaden's neighbors are familiar with her baby animal program. They don't seem to mind. But one day a woman drove by, saw children playing with a lamb in front of the center and called the city's animal control officer.

Strickfaden was the victim of a drive-by snooping.

It did not take long for the saga of Joni and her little lamb to morph with Swiftian absurdity into a cause célèbre. The district attorney's office prosecuted the case with all the fervor and tenacity of a pit bull chomping on a letter carrier's leg. With a straight face and righteous indignation, the assistant district attorney in charge of the case told reporters: "This lady is out of control." He expressed fears that Strickfaden might next bring in a "15-foot killer python, poisonous bugs or killer bees" for the children to observe.

(His words, not mine, I kid you not. This isn't exactly a case on which to build a professional career, let alone hang your hat. Prosecuting a case involving kids and animals equals professional self-immolation. Isn't that taught in Law 101? Maybe he missed that day.)

As usual, the devil is in the details. Strickfaden's offense was her violation of a city code that forbids the "keeping or housing" of animals other than traditional pets. Strickfaden and her supporters contend that the animals are not kept or housed -- they just visit for a few days. She insists that her intentions are obvious and benign. She is not running a petting zoo or a farm, she points out, and she is not some kind of animal collector nut.

In fact, Strickfaden's only mistake was to stick to her principles and refuse to be intimidated. She fought the charges -- to the tune of more than $6,200 in legal fees. The cost of principle comes dear in Ann Arbor. And the cost to taxpayers hasn't been reported. Strickfaden estimates the city pissed away about $10,000 or $15,000 of taxpayers' money that could have gone toward much better uses, such as park improvements or educational programs. The toll in bad P.R. for the city is incalculable. Most livable indeed.

Strickfaden fought for a jury trial and ultimately was acquitted. A second trial was about to begin when the assistant district attorney abruptly dismissed the case. It was heartening to see how conciliatory and reasonable he became in the face of escalating public ridicule. (In a scathing letter to the editor, a wag wanted to know what the ordinance says about keeping a "jackass" in the district attorney's office.) Apparently the assistant district attorney's fears of things snakey and poisonous also had abated.

There was some talk about the city council creating a resolution that would exempt Strickfaden from the ordinance's letter-of-the-law interpretation. After the charge was dismissed last winter, she asked the council to review its proposal for a resolution. To date, there has been no such action.

These days, with her money gone but her principles intact, Strickfaden looks forward to spring. And so do the children. As sure as the vernal equinox, she will bring baby farm animals to the daycare center this year.

But Strickfaden may not have heard the last from the city of Ann Arbor. At the close of the last legal go-round, the assistant district attorney reiterated that the city's animal ordinance is valid and will be upheld. Of his lamb-loving nemesis, he warned, "She risks prosecution, if it's merited."

It will be interesting to see what happens in a few short weeks as crocuses begin to peek up from the ground and buds begin to swell. I keep envisioning, irrationally perhaps, the district attorney knocking on Strickfaden's door with a summons in one hand and a jar of mint jelly in the other.

Ah, spring, when the sap -- all kinds -- runs exceedingly in Ann Arbor.
salon.com | Feb. 10, 2000

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