Jeff Richey, somewhere in his bones, knows his cause is lost. He just hasn’t the stomach to admit it. It is why he has filled out the application on his dog but still refuses to send it to the government.

“I’ll probably take a couple more weeks,” he moans, “or until they send a letter threatening to fine us.”

His emotions run the gamut. He understands the reasoning behind the law, he says, because there cannot be a greater animal lover than he. But he has never once put his dog on display as an exhibit.

And wait a minute, Richey finally spits, why does the government care at all about his dog? Does it not have bigger and better things to worry about?

The U.S. Department of Agriculture ruled this week that Farfel — Richey and Sandra Calvin’s 6-year-old bearded collie — is, indeed, a display animal under the Animal Welfare Act. As such, his owners must apply for a $40 commercial license.

The government habitually does head- scratchingly out-of-the-blue things, but by any measure, its Farfel ruling is an outrageous overreach.

Richey and Calvin for five years now have run Farfel’s Farm, a nice little pet-accessories store — they call it a “boutique” — at Ninth and Pearl streets in Boulder.

They named the store after their then-puppy and came up with the word “Farm” because they liked the alliteration with Farfel.

Farfel always came with Richey to the store and likes to spend his days in the sun on the front- window ledge next to the waterfall the couple installed.

“We never forced our dog to sleep there,” Richey said. “Farfel chooses to sleep there, and only for a small fraction of the day. Yet they are using a law designed to protect zoo and circus animals on my dog!”

A USDA spokesman says the dog’s sleeping in the front window is designed to attract customers, and Richey is therefore required to have commercial license.

If Richey doesn’t apply for a commercial exhibitor’s license for the dog or if he’s turned down, he said he would have to remove the name Farfel from the business name — and his name and image from all logos and advertising — or face possible fines.

“It will ruin five years of marketing and building our store because somebody thinks it is their job to federally regulate my dog,” he says.

If the license is approved, the store will be visited at least once a year by an inspector to ensure proper treatment of Farfel, who would also have to undergo a yearly battery of wellness tests by an approved veterinarian.

“There is no better-cared-for animal in this town. That is the absurdity,” Richey says.

He pulls a printout from a government website that lists other businesses required to obtain an exhibitor’s license. No pet store is on it.

“The $40 for the license is not the issue at all,” Richey says. “We object to their allocation of resources. I sometimes think they believe we’re an actual farm with, you know, animals.”

Farfel, in all my time at the shop, never once goes near the front window, but lies on the floor behind the counter.

I ask Richey once more about that application.

“I guess I’m just hoping,” he says, looking away, “that someone, somewhere, will say we have better things to do. Let’s leave these people alone.”

Bill Johnson writes Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Reach him at 303-954-2763 or wjohnson@denverpost.com.