The hardcore fans of Aibo, a popular robotic pet, are a creative, if geeky, bunch. Since 1999, when the lifelike toys first appeared beneath Christmas trees, hundreds of Aibo enthusiasts have programmed their charges to perform tricks unimagined in the boardrooms of Sony, the robot's creator. By expertly tweaking Aibo's code, hobbyists have enabled the robobeast to boogie to Madonna's "Vogue," double as a breadbox-sized surveillance camera, or growl "Bite my shiny metal robot ass!" All these behaviors are infinitely cooler than the bland caninelike moves that unenhanced Aibos perform.

Rather than delight in its customers' passion, however, Sony is playing the Grinch. On October 26, Sony sent a stern letter to a man known as "AiboPet." The company voiced its displeasure with his Web site, AiboHack.com, which offered such downloadable freebies as "Disco Aibo," a dance program, and "Brainbo," a voice-recognition package. Sony complained that AiboPet was violating the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), a 1998 law that largely forbids tinkering with copyrighted systems. Rather than face civil or criminal penalties, AiboPet shuttered most of his site, though not before firing a last salvo at Sony: "Life is too short to deal with these idiots."

The DMCA has a knack for evoking that sort of bitterness. In securing the law's passage three years ago, the DMCA's big-name backers--media and software titans such as the Motion Picture Association of America and Microsoft--trumpeted the bill as vital to preserving intellectual-property rights in the digital era. The law's meatiest section prohibits the circumvention of technologies that "effectively control access to a copyrighted work"--that is, the encryption mechanisms designed to frustrate bootleggers. The DMCA's supporters argued that the measure would protect consumers from cheap knockoffs.

But companies have instead capitalized on the DMCA's vague language to bludgeon the likes of AiboPet, small-fry hackers who dare fiddle with devices they purchased legally--a practice that was formerly protected under the fair-use doctrine. If Aibo owners can't poke around in their pet's code, they can't program new behaviors. And if they can't program new behaviors, their only means of bolstering Aibo is to purchase a lackluster $450 "performance kit" from Sony.

AiboPet blasts Sony's business strategy as hypocritical. He claims that the company has incorporated several of his software advances into its commercial products, such as outfitting newer Aibo models with a version of his "AiboScope" program, which lets the machine snap digital photos. Sony is thus using the DMCA to warp technology's public domain into a one-way street. "I really don't care about them stealing ideas and more from me," grumbles AiboPet, who spoke on condition that his real name not be revealed. "As long as they let me keep doing my stuff." (Sony's only comment was a prepared statement that reiterated the company's dedication to protecting its copyrights.)

The DMCA is even being used to chill criticism of flawed products. This past April, the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) took umbrage at the work of Edward Felten, a Princeton-based computer scientist. Felten had bested an encryption scheme created by the Secure Digital Music Initiative (SDMI), a record-company consortium that's trying to prevent albums from being copied and distributed electronically. When word leaked that Felten would air his results at a Pittsburgh conference, the RIAA informed him that he "could be subject to enforcement actions under federal law."

Though Felten eventually delivered his paper, he worries that the brouhaha has frightened many of his colleagues into silence. "The goal of doing research is to publish your results," says Felten, whose lawsuit against the RIAA--a potential legal challenge to the DMCA--was summarily dismissed by a federal judge in late November. "If you're worried about your ability to publish on a particular topic, it makes it a lot less likely that you'll talk on the topic."

Easing the DMCA is a technogeek cause celebre, but lawmakers seem oblivious to the moaning. Democratic Senator Ernest Hollings of South Carolina has drafted a sequel to the DMCA, the Security Systems Standards and Certification Act (SSSCA), which would mandate that all "interactive digital devices"--PCs, Discman CD players, even digital thermometers--contain government-approved anti-piracy controls. Anyone caught de-encrypting those controls would face up to five years in prison and a $500,000 fine. Eugene Spafford, co-chair of the Association for Computing Machinery's public-policy committee, calls the measure "the equivalent of outlawing copy machines because they could produce outlaw copies."

The hunt for bin Laden has pushed the SSSCA onto the back burner, but given the Beltway pull of the bill's primary backers--Disney and the News Corporation, who insist that the law will promote broadband deployment--it won't stay tabled for long. Lining up in opposition are hardware manufacturers, who dread government oversight of their designs. But deference is chic during wartime, and the hardware lobby may find that its traditional laissez-faire spiel no longer carries much weight on Capitol Hill.

Aibo owners, at least, aren't giving up without a fight. In response to the DMCA fracas, several enthusiasts have called for a boycott of Sony products; AiboPet himself canceled an order for his fifth robot. Sony, meanwhile, just released a rosy sales projection--it expects to sell 10,000 units of its newest Aibo model, the ERS-220, which goes for $1,500. That's a lot to pay for a pet on such a tight leash.