A Dogfight in Haddonfield

“YOU CAN LET them off the leashes,” Bob Taffet tells his wife.

We’re standing in the barnyard of the Alloway Township farm on a hot day in early June. Michele has just driven up in her Honda with two of the Ridgebacks, Rocky and Mack. Bear is staying with Duke at the kennel, to keep him company. (The Salem County hearing on Duke hadn’t been held by press time.)

Michele unhooks the leashes, and the two dogs bound joyously toward their master. Then they move on to me. I put a hand out to each of them, palm up. They sniff, then bound back off to explore. They’re beautiful dogs, muscular and sleek.

We take refuge from the sun in the barn, where there’s a long row of rabbit hutches full of flop-eared Flemish Giants. A metal pen holds two big puppies: Kangals, a breed that originated in Turkey. Bob has five Kangals at the farm. “We were only going to take one puppy,” he explains, “but the woman who breeds them has cancer, so we took both. We wound up with her rabbits, too.”

I reach into the pen. The puppies crowd to lick me, irresistible in their loose-limbed lack of proprioception. “Goats and dogs were the first animals domesticated by humans,” Bob tells me. “Kangals have been around for thousands of years.” They’ll grow much bigger than the Ridgebacks. “I bring the Kangals to Haddonfield when they’re puppies,” Bob says, “so they get socialized.”

We talk for three hours while Rocky and Mack lie at our feet. The Taffets don’t think Susanne’s kids are afraid of their dogs. “She’s afraid,” says Michele. “Their dog gets loose, but people are afraid to report it.” The Taffets say there have been more than 50 dog bites in Haddonfield since the Jackie Castorino incident that were reported to police but never prosecuted. “I asked at borough hall: How do you decide who not to prosecute?” Michele says. “They told me, ‘They don’t live next door to Susanne.’”

“This lady just wants to drive us out of town,” Bob says. He’s ready to move full-time to the farm, but Michele wants the kids — their youngest is nine — to finish school in Haddonfield. “We moved there because of the sense of community,” she says. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

The Taffets never expected the appellate court to reverse Judge McNeill’s decision. “Our lawyer even told us: Don’t worry,” says Michele.

“It makes you understand how people end up on death row when they’re innocent,” Bob says.

“In many ways,” says Michele, nodding at her husband, “he’s Jesus. Think about it! He’s been vilified, tried — ” “

I was a carpenter before I was a doctor,” Bob says, then shrugs. “People tend to anthropomorphize. Dogs are just dogs. They speak with growls, barks and bites. They can’t say, ‘Leave me alone.’”

“All dogs are potentially dangerous,” Michele says.

Rocky and Mack have gotten to their feet and are milling around. Suddenly I hear a growl, a bark, the snap of teeth. “Hey Mack!” Bob says sharply. “Go lie down!” He knees the younger dog away. “Rocky is the alpha. Mack’s the wannabe alpha,” he explains. My heart is thumping from adrenaline.

In her court testimony, Michele admitted being afraid of Rocky when he was younger. “Did you ever want to just get rid of the dogs?” I ask her.

“I always wanted to get rid of the dogs,” she says. “I had four kids and a husband who worked all the time. It was me. You know what I’m saying? It was me. But when this started, and it became so exaggerated and disproportionate, I wanted to stand up for their rights. They became family.”

Rocky wanders back toward me, nudging hopefully at my hand. I scratch his head, and my own.