By Francisco Alvarado
By Trevor Bach
By Chris Joseph
By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Keegan Hamilton and Francisco Alvarado
By Jake Rossen
By Allie Conti
Woolsey shot right back, "What the fuck are you talking about, not run?" And didn't Edouard get the notice on his door?
The bleeding technician dragged himself over to the garden hose, where Edouard watered him. Woolsey could see the fatty tissue through the gashes in the back of his thigh. An abrasion on one cornea, perhaps from breaking boards, was making everything blurry. Edouard continued to berate Woolsey, telling him that the mailman knows not to mess with the dogs. What was his problem?
Woolsey replied that he had every right to be there, this was utility work for the whole neighborhood, there were no beware-of-dog signs, and he would have to file a police report, throwing in several maternal f-bombs and their variants.
Woolsey says Edouard pleaded to leave the cops out of it. Woolsey instead told him to put some signs up and two days later went to the hospital to get six stitches in the back of his leg. The cut on his eye, he says, forced him to miss a week of work.
"He let the fuckin' dogs out on us for sure," Woolsey says. "Look, this guy's an asshole. He thinks he lives in the country by himself."
Edouard laughs when he recalls this episode. He says he had been washing the dogs, and they acted on their own. He seems most irked that he had to pony up $30 to repair the fence board Woolsey broke. "I didn't do it. My dogs didn't do it," he says of the busted fence.
On May 19, the day everyone saw coming, Edouard says he was returning home from getting his car serviced when he saw officers taping off his front yard. One cop, Donald Hines, was on his roof with a big gun. His red dog lay dead out front. Edouard describes that dog, Killer, as so goofy, "you could come out from nowhere with an alligator costume, whatever, he'd come play with you."
The police kept Edouard in front for about 20 minutes, he says, until he threw a fit and the officers walked him to the back, where Angel was shot, Butch was dead, and Kathy Broderick was yapping some bullshit, according to Edouard.
He told her to mind her own fuckin' business. Animal control arrived and offered to put Angel down for him, which didn't make any sense. He took her to the hospital. Authorities collected the bodies of her sons and later cut off their heads to check for rabies.
Cass St. Leon was listed in serious condition but soon gave interviews from the hospital. The daily papers and television stations latched on. The day-after Miami Heraldstory dug up anecdotes about the dangers of being a pool man -- don't run, came the advice of one. Neither that story nor the Sun-Sentinel's noted Edouard's felonies or much from his neighbors. Stacy Woolsey saw the coverage and called the hospital to apologize to the St. Leon family. "I told them I was sorry, that I felt responsible for not going to the police immediately," the cable contractor says. A few days later, he called Pembroke Pines police to offer a statement. After talking about his experiences, Woolsey made a request to be sure his home address not appear in this story. "He's a real thug," he says of Edouard, "and who knows what kind of people he deals with. I don't want to be presumptuous; I just don't want him doing a drive-by or anything."
Edouard maintains that St. Leon was supposed to come Tuesday, so his dogs were victims, not aggressors. So far, the city hasn't cited Edouard for the attack because it occurred on his property.
But McKee, the pool man's attorney, says that the date was correct and that the dogs should have been penned. Last month, the lawyer demanded $300,000 from the homeowner's insurer. "The dogs aren't vicious," he says. "They do what dogs do." It's Edouard and his landlord who are to blame, he concludes. Campbell, the landlord, says that rent's paid on time and that Edouard is a good tenant.
In any case, the dog owner had to wash the blood off his Caprice and undent its hood and roof, which had been stomped concave. He also has had to do his own pool work. It went from a black bilge pit to a pleasant sea green in a matter of days.
Edouard also reclaimed a couple of pit bulls he says friends had been keeping, so he's back up to the maximum three dogs, who sit in steel cages in the garage and bark ferociously when people walk by. (The Millers say, a month after the attack on St. Leon, that they sometimes see four dogs at his house.)
"I couldn't just have one dog," he says, though of course, he misses the two dead ones.
Things have almost returned to normal. He did get some nasty mail, postmarked May 24, unsigned, with a return address that read, "Society for the Extermination of Pit Bulls, Coral Springs, FL." It read,
Dear Mr. Dumb Ass Nigger:
I was delighted to see that the world has 2 less Pit Bulls thanks to some fine officers killing 2 of yours.