Rest in Peace, Tony Perez

Tony Perez had a tough start in life.  When he was just a puppy, the guy who owned him broke his front leg.  In stead of putting the puppy down as the bastard requested the vet, Dr. Perez, offered to take the dog off the bastard’s hands and in exchange would not call the police to report animal cruelty.  Dr. Perez surgically repaired Tony’s leg and when Tony was almost completely healed, he was adopted by a lady who worked with my daughter, Jen.  This was the summer after her freshman year at Mount Holyoke and she worked at the Wardlaw-Hartridge School.  Tony was adopted on a Friday, and the lady who adopted Tony needed to ‘puppy proof’ her apartment.  When asked if Tony could stay the weekend with us, I foolishly replied ‘Sure, no problem’.

Tony was a small terrier of some sort.  He was a puppy and he was understandably nervous around men because it was a man who broke his leg.  We used a kiddie gate to imprison Tony in our laundry room because we didn’t want him to get hurt by Buckwheat, our lab.  Buck wouldn’t hurt him intentionally, but big dogs play rough and Tony had a healing leg.  Jen and I fed Tony and medicated him to fight the infection that set up in his leg. Even with a cast on that bum leg, Tony amused himself over the weekend taunting Buckwheat.  Tony enjoyed routinely jumping over the kiddie gate, barking at Buck and then jumping back over the gate.  He’d look up at me, give me a dog smile and his eyes said “I can jump out.  I can jump in.”  Tony was the only dog who could sport the cone of shame and make it work. I spent a lot of time holding Tony over the weekend.  He was so frightened that he just shook all the time.  I hand fed him some to calm him down.  He got petted a lot by me, by Landi and by Catfish.  It was Jen who may have spoiled this dog.  This little dog was not ignored. He may have magical powers.

On Monday afternoon, just like agreed to, the lady came to pick Tony up.  I was holding Tony, who was finally chill in my arms.  No shaking, no nervous eyes.  He was chill.  The lady reached out to take him from me, and he suddenly snapped at her.  She drew back in horror.  She looked at me, and with a very shocked expression, she said “I can’t have a vicious dog”, and walked out.

I stood there holding Tony.  I looked at Tony.  Tony looked at me.  I swear he smiled.  He seemed satisfied and licked his nose.  I realized at that point, we had a new dog. 

Tony lived with us in South Plainfield for the next three years as Jen finished school.  As she drove through New Jersey on her way to teach Spanish in a New Orleans inner city school, she stopped in and got Tony.  She and Tony spent and interesting year in New Orleans.  It seems that Jen is adept at training dogs, and Tony was adept at learning. Jen spent a year teaching Spanish to New Orleans kids who were trying desperately to just survive. This was a time of personal growth for both her and Tony.  At the end of the year, Jen knew a couple of things.  One, she did not want to teach Spanish in an inner city New Orleans school, and two, Tony wasn’t her dog.  She was Tony’s people.

Jen, much to Tony’s dismay, dropped Tony off at our house in New Jersey on her way to law school in Boston.  Tony quickly settled into life with Buckwheat, Catfish and Chaunti.

Tony was a little surly for a bit, but that’s understandable.  If you are a terrier and you go from being a New Orleans dog-god to being in a New Jersey dog pack with a giant black dog, a smelly yard-ape and a tiny white kick-me, you are just going to rebel some.  It’s expected. It’s like one minute you are Elvis, and the next minute you are in a boy band.  Tony’s rebellion wasn’t bad.  He simply marked his territory again and picked his spot to watch TV with us in the evening.  Disturbing him in his spot was done at your own risk.  Unfortunately, ‘his spot’ was my lap.  It was odd adjusting to having to ask the dog if I could go to the bathroom, but we worked it out.  Unlike Catfish, Tony never learned to bring me a beer.  Some folks learned to never tell Tony that his is fat because he will bite you.  On visits to the Vet, Tony was treated like a Rock Star, and did become something of a diva there.  You may think you are cool, but you will never be Tony Perez proudly wearing a cone of shame while standing on Buckwheat cool. Tony truly was a force.

After four years of law school, Jen retrieved Tony.  I do have to admit, Tony was a little more than relieved.  Jen and Tony lived in Boston for several years.  When Jen would travel, Tony would stay with us.  This was not to Tony’s liking.  He really preferred being with Jen to anything else, even bacon.  In Boston, Jen practiced law and Tony learned that he really, really, really didn’t like snow.  Apparently, me shoveling out a spot in the snow so that his Johnson didn’t drag in the snow had spoiled him.  Jen doesn’t shovel snow.  After a couple of law firms and several apartments and houses, Jen, her partner in crime Alex, Tony and his pet dog Bennet all moved to Atlanta.  Atlanta was a win all around: Little snow and no Red Sox.

Tony, by this time, was an old dog.  He was having some old dog issues, but he delt with them various degrees of dignity and denial.  He was good at a lot of things that go unappreciated.  Until his last day, he warned nearly every time a suspicious leaf, wrapper or imaginary object blew across the yard.  He would always let you know when one of the neighbors got a delivery.  Even as he aged, though, the old dog could still do the old tricks.  But, time, as we all know, is a bastard and eventually time robbed the old dog of his old tricks.  Despite his advanced age, Tony continued to claim new territory by marking, but sadly, sometimes it was old territory that he didn’t recall marking yesterday.  Tony became a little less Tony everyday until the day came when it was time.  It just took a blink, and seventeen years passed him by. Tony trotted over the bridge yesterday. You can bet your sweet ass he marked both sides of the bridge.

I hope that in my old age, I am loved and cared for just half as well as Tony was.  When I stagger across the rainbow bridge, I hope that my family misses me as much as we all miss Tony.

Rest in Peace, Tony Perez.  You lived large for 17 years.  You touched many a heart, bit a few fingers and marked more territory than the English Army.