Evolution of An Animal Lover

This piece is in memoriam to our three-legged wonder dog, Tobey Beethoven Black, who passed away October 26, 2021, at the age of 14.

My family and I moved into a New York City housing project called Jefferson Houses in December 1956. Growing up in the “Projects” in the late 50s and early 60s was a slice of heaven for the poor working class. It was one of the places in New York City that, comparatively speaking, deserved the title “melting pot.” Our project’s inhabitants were Black, Puerto Rican, Italian Irish, and Jewish.

The families that lived in Jefferson were called tenants, and all tenants had to abide by specific rules and regulations or run the risk of receiving fines or being evicted. I would learn later that these rules were comparable to what a homeowner association would adopt. There were rules like no bicycles, no playing in the grass, but I will never forget that there was a strict prohibition on having pets. If the Housing Authority found out you had a pet, your family could be evicted. Suffice it to say that this was not conducive to promoting or developing a pet culture. The closest we ever came to having pets was watching episodes of Lassie or feeding my father’s goldfish. The Watlington crew had very little experience with pets growing up.

One of my most memorable experiences with animals was when I lived in Fredericksburg, VA. By that time, my wife and I were raising three kids, and anyone that has raised children knows a recurring conversation is always about pets. Well, my youngest daughter Damaris always asked us to get a dog, and my usual response was some version of you’re too young, we don’t have time, or how much work it is to care for a dog. Suffice to say, none of these responses stopped her from asking for a dog.

This particular Saturday, I was getting ready to jog, and Damaris shifted gears on me, and instead of asking for a dog, she asked for a turtle. Although I was a bit thrown by her request, I came up with several excuses to say no. I used to love running in my neighborhood, and it was less than a mile away from George Washington’s boyhood home and still retained much of its natural beauty and charm. About halfway through my run, I saw something crossing the road up ahead, so I slowed down my pace, and to my amazement, it was a large turtle crossing the road. The sighting stopped me in my tracks, and I sped home as if this event was divine intervention.

As soon as I hit the door, I yelled out to the kids, “get dressed; we’re going out to get a turtle.” Our trip to the pet shop resulted in us buying a razorback turtle. When it came to naming this new pet, the kids had it all figured out. In the middle of the teenage mutant ninja turtle craze, my kids wanted to make the new pet the 5th Ninja Turtle. They chose the name Picasso, and Picasso lived until the ripe old age of 25. Illogically, our success with Picasso led me to believe we were ready for the big step up to a dog. It was a family project, and we went to our local shelter to pick out a dog. It was a consensus that we would adopt Buddy into our family. The happiest person in our family was Damaris, who finally got her wish; he was approximately two years old, had a great disposition, and was very gentle with the kids. What happens next was a great example of how progress Never moves in a straight line. Although the kids professed their undying love for Buddy, of course, it fell upon me to be his primary caretaker.

I would love to tell you that this was a transformational experience for me, and I became a model pet owner, but no, it didn’t happen. In retrospect, I realized that I was a horrible dog owner. I think I had the temperament, but I didn’t know how to be a good pet owner. I would do perfunctory things like walk him twice a day, make sure he was fed, and give him water, but I was horrible at training him. For example, I would take him out for walks regularly, but he would never do anything outside; he’d wait until he got back home to relieve himself. In two years, I must have disposed of more waste than you’d find on a cow pasture. After two years of failing miserably to train Buddy, I spoke with my wife about bringing Buddy back to the shelter, and she agreed. Parenting, living an hour away from DC, and attendance at law school made our schedules brutal. We thought it was best not to take the kids with us.

Approximately a month later, we decided to take our kids to the movies. We went to see a film called Beethoven, and after purchasing food and drinks, we settled in for the beginning of the movie. The film was about a group of puppies stolen from a pet store. One of the puppies, a Saint Bernard, sneaks into a family’s home. As the film’s story developed, Damaris, who was five and a half at the time, turned toward me and asked, “Daddy, what happened to Buddy?” I told her we brought him back to the shelter so another family could adopt him. My response was more hopeful than likely. Damaris, who was beginning to tear up, then asked me in a packed theater, “Daddy, did you kill my dog?” I was speechless as the people in our section snapped their heads around, as if choreographed, to see who this horrible person was. I was able to console Damaris, but the damage was already done. I could still feel the glares as we walked out of the theater at the end of the film.

After dealing with the embarrassment and shame, I developed a better understanding of the commitment and love necessary to bring an animal into your life. I don’t think it is too far-fetched to say it is similar in many ways to bringing a child into your family. Love, compassion, and commitment are critical if you decide to adopt or purchase a pet. You can’t let others make that decision for you, though. That’s one of the reasons I had been petless for more than 20 years.

Then along came my wife, Fabiana. Fabiana’s family had been rescuing dogs and cats from the streets of Sao Paulo before rescue pets even became a thing. When I arrived on the scene, they had four dogs. Their mini pack consisted of Pupi Lee Jones, Teka Maria, Guadalupe Maria De Lourdes, and our dear departed Tobey Beethoven Black. Now it is down to two and the youngster of the group is Lupita, and she’s 14 years old. It took a while for this pack to accept me, but I learned there is no generic dog or dog personality in the process. These animals are more loving and trustworthy than the human beings we deal with every day in many ways.

Over the past three years, our family has grown by five kitties that we found on the streets of Osasco, Sao Paulo. Lucky, Rocky Raccoon, Cherry Cookie, Goo Go, and Penny Lane have made an incredible difference in our quality of life. Now happily, I’m the guy who views pets’ addition to your life as more than a commitment. It’s a relationship that deserves a level of importance that rivals our human relationships. Animals or pets are not appendages, and I’ve learned over time that they even become soulmates. I’m sorry it took me so long to discover that, Buddy.

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