I can't help but think that Eric would have posted something on this story if he weren't still hip deep in the big move to Michigan, so I'll take a small crack at it myself, though I see that it's created some buzz throughout the blogosphere.

There's no better place to start than the lead to the story from the Baltimore Sun:

When the shooting stopped, two dogs lay dead. A mayor sat in his boxers, hands bound behind his back. His handcuffed mother-in-law was sprawled on the kitchen floor, lying beside the body of one of the family pets that police had killed before her eyes.

As for the marijuana, it was apparently part of a scam: have it delivered to the "wrong" address, then pick it up later. The perpetrators have since been arrested, and yet two dogs are dead and an innocent family terrorized, humiliated, and treated like criminals.

But something about this makes me sick: I have no doubt that the outrage will swell (as it should), reparations shall be made (as they should), and that changes may be made (in this locality at least) as they should, after so a flagrant a case of unconstitutional procedure.

But what makes me more sick is that Cory Maye still sits in prison because a cop knocked down the wrong door in the middle of the night. He had received the death penalty for defending himself, but the ruling was overturned.

And there he sits, forgotten.