Now that the Democratic convention is fading into memory, and we’re done praising ourselves as living in an urban utopia, let us return to reality.

For example, the highly real Chicago neighborhood where Eddie D. lives. (He doesn’t want his full name used, since he values his life.)

”I live near North and Pulaski,” says Eddie, ”which, as you probably know, is a very active drug and gangbang area.

”And I want to tell you what happened to me when I was stupid enough to try to be a good citizen.

”I had done some late night grocery shopping, and I was emptying the stuff out of my car when I heard shooting nearby.

“That’s not unusual. Some nights the neighborhood sounds like a shooting gallery.

”Then I saw this Hispanic kid, maybe 17 or 18 years old, running down the alley, looking for a place to hide.

”A few minutes later the cops showed up, and they were looking around the garages and garbage cans. I was still unloading groceries, and one of the cops asked me if I saw anything.

”That’s when I did something stupid. I told him I saw the guy and pointed to a fence where I thought he had jumped over.

“So the cop went there and jumped up on a garbage can. Then the can tipped over and there was the kid, scrunched down between the cans and the fence.

”They looked around but couldn’t find his gun. Then they hustled him away in a squad car.

”But one of the cops told me that the guy he shot at wouldn’t identify him.

“So what good did it do for me to open my mouth? Nothing. I should have kept it shut. I told the cop that I suppose they’re going to mess up my car now to teach me a lesson. But I was wrong. I wished they had messed up my car.

”But what they did was a lot worse. What they did was steal my dog and I’m pretty sure they killed him.”

This, says Eddie, is how he thinks it happened: ”I don’t have air conditioning, so on hot evenings I take sofa pillows and blankets and sleep on the roof.

“My dog, Dancer, is my only companion. He would sleep out there with me. It’s a flat tar roof with stairs leading to the ground level.

“I woke up at 1:30, and I could see he was restless, so I told him to lie down. He came over and lay down next to me. I’m always afraid he’ll go down the stairs. He was acting the same way several days before. I put him on a leash and tied it round my ankle so he couldn’t go anywhere.

”He’s an extremely obedient dog. I could call him from a block away and he would come running back to me.

“When I saw he was missing, I walked to the end of the roof and called out his name.

”I realized he was gone. I got dressed. I drove up and down the streets. I went all the way down to Division and to Armitage, and Kostner on the west and Central Park on the east.

“I put 40 miles on my car driving up and down the streets over four hours.”

But he didn’t find Dancer in the neighborhood.

”They could have tempted him out of the yard several ways. They could have brought some female dog in the alley, and that would have attracted him.

”The next few days I went to the Anti-Cruelty Society, the city pound, and I’ve been to pounds as far away as Elgin, Aurora, Chicago Ridge, the Animal Welfare League on the South Side, Lake County, anywhere he could have gone if he was lost and picked up.”

No luck.

We didn’t talk for a few days, during which time Eddie tried to get the police to do something.

”But they aren’t interested in dogs,” Eddie said. ”Not with all the gangbangers and dope dealers there are around here. I couldn’t even report him as being stolen. They said he was missing property.”

Then Eddie called again. While weeping, he said: “Just got another piece of information. A salesman at one of the neighborhood stores said he was talking to a guy who picks up aluminum cans in the alley.

”The guy said he saw a dead dog wrapped up in newspapers lying in one of the garbage cans in the alley a couple weeks ago. It was right after he disappeared. From his description and the timing, I’m sure that dead dog was my Dancer.

”That’s what they did to teach me a lesson, and I just feel so … I’ve learned my lesson. What did I accomplish by helping the police? Nothing.

”Next time I’ll mind my own business. If I had just said I didn’t see anyone or anything, my dog would be alive. Let the gangbangers shoot each other.”

A dead gangbanger or a dead dog. It’s not that tough a choice.

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Mike Royko is a syndicated columnist for the Chicago Tribune.