Born Attorney?

Last night I was thinking of a rather odd episode in my young life, one that points to perhaps a predestination as an attorney.
This was maybe a month after we adopted Raider, so I was 11 or 12 and not yet the Full Metal Attorney that I am today (I had not yet been acquainted with what we know and love as metal). Raider also was not the bold doggy dictator of the greater metropolitan Pierce area, ruling with an iron jaw and urinating on objects all over town. Instead, he was a timid pup and I was just a little dorky kid who kept to himself. Anyway, I had Raider on a leash at the local elementary school playground, and I was sitting on a swing. Some kid that was probably a year or two younger than me walked over to us with a ball and asked if he could throw the ball at my dog. Yes, friend, please abuse my animal, you twisted bastard. So I told him that no, he couldn't, and then he asked what I would do if he put his wicked scheme into motion. I did not threaten to beat the crap out of him. No, no, that would not scare him enough. I used the most horrifying threat that one can use: I said that I would sue him. That's right, I said it. Needless to say, his face drained of color and he went on his way. Thus was my first taste of the Power of Attorney, and it tasted like a cold Pepsi mixed with Bacardi and a twist of lime.