Cornell’s annual Dragon Day festivities started off well this year. But shortly after the parade — as I sat handcuffed to a wall in the Barton Police station — I knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

As a fourth-year architecture student and campus tour guide, I know the importance of Dragon Day as a longstanding Cornell tradition. The event serves as an expression of school spirit, a celebration of spring, and a rite of passage within the school of architecture.

This spring, our freshmen worked as a team to do what generations of sleep-deprived Cornellians have done before: they fundraised, advertised and constructed a float for the Dragon Day parade. New restrictions from University and government officials made the task of doing so nearly impossible, but their good-humored pranks and well-crafted dragon were a profound success.

As first-years labored together, upperclassmen in the department focused on their own costumes for the parade. These outfits ranged the full spectrum of imagination — with group themes inspired by Sesame Street, Catholicism, Fantasia, punctuation marks, rock/paper/scissors, etc. etc.

This year, my friend and I dressed as flute-playing goat-men. Our costumes included furry pants, horns, ears and some standard faun-accessories that have become popular since Mr. Tumnus’ on-screen debut in Narnia (i.e. scarf, umbrella, and musical instrument).

Having been told that my cardboard fishing boat posed a threat to the community last year, I intentionally chose a less provocative costume. Fauns are known for being relatively docile mythical creatures, and if I caused any damage with my furry leggings it would likely be to myself.

When the parade arrived on the Arts Quad, the crowd gathered behind two concentric rings of caution tape enclosing the burn-zone. The tradition has always been for architecture students to stand in the chute between these two boundaries and I was surprised when a police officer warned me to move back.

A few minutes later, after the freshmen ran their celebratory circuit between the lines of tape, I ducked back in to join them and other costumed architects. Within seconds, another Cornell official took me by the arm and escorted me away from the crowd.

With unexpected seriousness for someone speaking to a goat-man, the officer asked for my name and date of birth.

“Excuse me officer,” I replied, “but what is the problem?”

“What is your name?” he insisted.

“What is the issue?” I asked again.

“When were you born?”

“I’m sorry, but what am I in trouble for?”

The conversation proceeded like this for several minutes and the officer refused to tell me the offense. My knowledge of the law is idealized and incomplete, but I didn’t think that I needed to share personal information unless (a) I had done something wrong or (b) the officer explained the situation.

In the words of Sonny Curtis, I fought the law and the law won. Officers swarmed around me on the Arts Quad and handcuffed my arms behind my back.

This commotion attracted the attention of my Dean and the Chair of the architecture department, for whom I work as a teaching assistant. They approached the Deputy Chief and explained to her that I’m not a bad kid and that I meant no harm.

More amusing — but much less effective — were cries for my release from other costumed architecture students, including a full-size deer. As I reflect on the situation, it seems only natural that other woodland creatures would come to the defense of an innocent faun. It is very reminiscent of Mr. Tumnus’ plight in Narnia.

Despite the efforts of friends and professors, the officers placed me in their car and escorted me to the police headquarters at Barton Hall. As if I had not met my daily quota for irony, I recognized several of the officers at the station — I had given them tours of campus when they were newly hired at Cornell.

My tour of their station ended in a small room where they handcuffed me to a wall. The question and answer session was stern and I suppressed a smile when they asked if they could remove my horns.

As I sat shirtless in the corner, two young officers filled out paperwork and debated which violations they should select on the computer’s scroll-down menu. Ultimately, they marked me down for disorderly conduct and failure to comply with officers. Based on the Dean’s recommendation and my good standing, they decided not to send me to Ithaca court; instead, I will face the JA board here on campus.

As the shock of being arrested, handcuffed and questioned in furry goat pants subsides, I am becoming more amused by the situation. Arrests on Dragon Day are not uncommon and the JA board has dealt with similar cases. Last year, for example, they disciplined a sperm when it tried to impregnate the phoenix — sending a clear message that dragon-phoenix love children will not be tolerated at Cornell.

In this context, my arrest is not too surprising. I will take the consequences in stride and remember during next Dragon Day to listen to the folks in costume who call themselves police.