When you filed your income taxes did you check your math? This is a good habit, but even better is to have a completely different set of eyes peruse your 1040 to catch something you might have missed. Our founders had the foresight to design our government so the two chambers of the legislative branch could spot mistakes in each other’s work. We in the House caught a big one on April 8th—in my mind, potentially the most dangerous bill of Montana’s 62nd legislative session nearly became law.

Promoted as a bill to save puppies, SB421 wasn’t about puppies at all, it was about power; expanding, unbridled government power. Titled an Act revising animal welfare hearing laws, SB421 sailed 12-0 out of the Senate Judiciary Committee, 41-9 out of the Senate and flew 11-9 past the House Judiciary Committee. The last stop was the House floor where we conservatives frequently feel like the patriots at the Alamo, but unlike in 1836 in Texas, we defeated SB421 on a vote of 59-41. Here is the story.

In early 2009, Linda’s animal hoarding case east of Billings burst onto the headlines. Her uncontrolled dog breeding program rendered her situation logarithmically hopeless so the Yellowstone County Attorney’s office filed aggravated animal cruelty charges and confiscated 200 critters. That many canines on ten acres yield a fairly dense deposition of dog droppings, so county officials carefully watched each step. (With the clarity of hindsight, I would say the moment they physically confiscated living, breathing, and eating evidence, they stepped right in the middle of it.) Animal rights organizations rushed to the scene and began beaming video clips of volunteers cradling skinny puppies. Their call for donations went viral and for non-profits, this was the perfect storm.

In spite of the tremendous generosity of volunteer labor and money, county officials soon learned what Linda already knew—it’s both exhausting and expensive to provide food and care for 200 dogs. Eight months and 200,000 tax payer dollars later, Linda was sentenced to 20 years probation and her dogs were adopted out. With costly egg on their face, SB421 was drafted to prevent another $200,000 mistake by county prosecutors. Owners accused of animal cruelty must, within 72 hours of being charged, post a bond to provide food and care for the confiscated animals for a period of 30 days and continue to do so every 30 days until adjudication. If you don’t see the red flag, remember SB421 affects all animals; it’s not just about puppies.

Here is another fictitious scenario: You have a town job and 150 momma cows you calve on your 40 acres outside of town. Your trophy wife is a swing-shift greeter at Wal-Mart and between both your incomes you can almost lease enough grass to sustain your cow outfit. (It’s great being a rancher.) April 15th rolls past and it has been a long winter with a cold wet spring. Your cows are thin and you are out of hay, money and credit, but like all ranchers, you know “it will be a boomer next year”. In desperation, you open the gate on the calving pen and let your cows grub the 40 acres around the house. Global warming fails to materialize this spring and after 10 days your cows look scraggly and starved. One Sunday afternoon, a couple trust-funders driving their Subaru Outback stop and photograph your skinny 13 year-old lump-jaw cow standing by the road. You held onto the old gal last fall hoping to graft her last calf onto a heifer and this becomes your fatal mistake.

The bumper of the Outback is plastered with “Save-The-Whales” stickers and your lump-jaw cow’s digital photo goes viral. Every animal rights non-profit organizer rushes to the scene and then to the sheriff. The death spiral begins. County officials finally cave to the unrelenting pressure from the activists and you are charged with aggravated animal cruelty. SB421 insulates the county from another $200,000 mistake, so they have nothing at risk. Your cows are hauled to a nearby feedlot and you are given 72 hours to post a $15,000 bond for 30 days of feed and care. Posting another $15,000 bond every month, bankrupts your cash flow, grass lease deadlines come and go so you lose your summer forage to the free market. On August 8th, the slow wheels of justice finally give you your day in court and you are acquitted of all charges. By now it’s too late. Your banker greets you on the courthouse steps and calls your operating loan plus the $60,000 bonds. With no other option, you truck your cows to the sale barn, the bank collects the proceeds and you are out of business. Now do you see the red flag? Government must always absorb the cost of prosecution prior to conviction because you just might be innocent. Shifting it to the accused is the equivalent of the barbaric Chinese tradition of asking family members to pay for the bullet used to execute political prisoners.

When we increase the law enforcement power of government, we trust they will never mistakenly or purposely abuse their new power. I’m uncomfortable with that. Once we surrender such power it is gone forever and forever is a fairly long time. Being a veterinarian, I know I will be demonized for defeating an animal welfare law, but as I said before, it’s not about puppies, it’s about power. I remain a steadfast “No!”