Dog Drama Page 2

  “I see.” In truth, having watched recorded scenes, I was skeptical about Flint being unhappy. The audience was roaring in the background. Furthermore, Flint had the bearing of a dog that is spot-on for his owner’s expectations.

  Baxter gave me a wink. He was keeping out of the conversation, perfectly willing to play second fiddle to me, despite his being much more knowledgeable about my client than I was.

  “I want to take this show on the road,” John continued. “Every producer and director of live theater is gun shy about putting dogs on stage...except for your basic ‘how-cute-is-that’ walk-on part for dogs. I wanted to create a show that flew in the face of that logic. My play is designed for herders...the most easily trained and reliable show dogs in the world.”

  “Oh, be serious, John,” a woman someplace behind me scoffed.

  I pivoted. A fortyish woman with a mid-length paisley dress and unkempt purple-streaked light-brown hair entered the lobby through a hallway to the right of the theater itself. “You see all kinds of breeds of dogs on TV in front of live audiences all the time.” A Pug came trotting behind her and barked at us. Pavlov gave the little dog a wary look, but didn’t return the barks. I suspected Pavlov felt superior. For one thing, the Pug was wearing a forest-green velvet dress with white lace around the collar.

  “Felicity, this is Baxter and Allie, who are here to help coach Flint,” John said, his voice and expression inscrutable.

  “Hi, and welcome,” she told me. “We’ve been expecting you.” She smiled at Baxter. “Hi, Baxter.”

  “Hi, Felicity. Good to see you again.” Baxter gave her a quick hug.

  “Oh, right,” John muttered. “You’ve met. Sorry.”

  Before I could put together when Baxter might have met her, Felicity won me over by beaming at Pavlov. “Wow! What a gorgeous Shepherd.”

  “This is Pavlov.”

  She held her palm out for Pavlov to sniff and asked, “May I pet her?”

  “Absolutely.”

  While Felicity lavished attention on Pavlov and ignored her now-frantic-for-attention Pug, John told Felicity, “You’re missing the point. Eddie on Frazier had a studio audience, but it was not a live broadcast. The dog, Sandy, in Annie, is on stage for maybe two minutes. Yet my play is geared such that any herding show dog needs to treat four actors like four sheep. Since the actors all know their blocking and always hit their marks, it’s like working with any other human actor on that stage.”

  “Except it isn’t at all like working with a human actor, which is why you’ve had to hire a dog therapist.” She picked up her dog, balancing him or her on one hip. (Come to think of it, considering the Pug’s diminutive size and velvet dress, I was betting on female.)

  “Only because someone is deliberately messing with my dog to prevent me from being successful,” John countered.

  Their bickering, along with Baxter and Felicity having met, reminded me that Baxter mentioned John used to have a longtime live-in girlfriend named Felicity.

  “I hope you don’t mean to imply that I’m the cause of Flint’s problems,” Felicity said.

  “Why would I think that?” John retorted. “So that Pippa can take the lead, and we can make Flint the underdog? Or the understudy, if you prefer?”

  “For heaven’s sake, John,” she scolded. “I’m just trying to be helpful. Casting a Pug to be bossing four adults around makes for a funnier visual.” Her eyes darted from mine to Baxter’s and back. “Allie, Baxter, you get what I’m saying, right?”

  I did indeed get her point. But I could also see why John would prefer a Border Collie in the role. And, regardless, I could safely assume any playwright would want all actors—human and otherwise—to perform the scenes he or she had created precisely as written.

  Baxter simply shrugged. Both John and Felicity were watching me, awaiting my reply. “Is this Pippa?” I asked, grinning at the Pug.

  “Yes, it is,” Felicity answered, in somewhat baby-talking tones as she treated Pippa to an ear rub. “Isn’t she absolutely adorable?”

  “She sure is.” Pugs were known as one of the natural clowns of the canine world. They are happy, friendly, amiable—and typically stubborn as a mule. Just then, Pippa started making a series of snorts and grunts, which was a side-effect of their breeding for that short face of theirs—a compromised respiratory system. “But as cute as your dog would be, bossing the actors on stage around, I can see why the role was designed for a breed with strong herding instincts.”

  “Exactly, Allie,” John said. He snuck in a rather triumphant grin at his ex. “My play is a romantic comedy that’s something of a Parent Trap from the Disney movie scenario, with ‘Blue’ serving the same purpose as Haley Mills’ character. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes. I saw the remake with Lindsay Lohan...playing twins,” I replied. Not to mention having seen several scenes of his play that gave me the gist of John’s creation.

  “Right. Like the twins, Blue is trying to repair the rifts between his original owners, and to drive away the new love interests that each of his owners now have.”

  “All the action is comprised of three acts at three cocktail parties,” Felicity continued, “which are held at the dog’s two homes, now that the owners are divorced. The dog herds and/or separates the actors on the stage, according to the needs of the script. John has been advertising his play as being easily produced with any well-trained dog in the role.”

  “The operative word being ‘well-trained,” John said. “Hence the need to borrow your dog, Pavlov.” He cast a look of disdain in Pippa’s direction. “Our understudy isn’t cutting it. Plus I should have said any medium to large dog can play the role. The actors could step right over the Pug.”

  “Which is why she was so cute in the role,” Felicity said, crossing her arms.

  “Pippa is incorrigible. Opening night was a disaster with Flint, but it was even worse with Pippa the second night. Both times the actors had to follow my pseudo-adlib-emergency plan.” He paused. “It’s time you met my dog.” He winked at me. “Come, Flint,” he called.

  We heard the pitter-patter of paws trotting down an unseen flight of stairs.

  John’s remarkable dog trotted around the corner. “Uh, oh,” I muttered as my heart all but skipped a beat. He was black and white with the signature thick coat and pointy ears. And his eyes! They were a brilliant blue. He focused those stunning baby blues on me, and it was love at first sight.

  “This is Flint,” John said, “and this is Allie. She’s going to get you over your acting hurdles.”

  “Hi, Flint. You’re one handsome dog.” I let Flint sniff my fist, which is safer for me and less threatening for him, then greeted him side-by-side, also less threatening to dogs. I petted his shoulder. Pavlov was watching him warily. She’d seen me with so many canine clients that, as long as a strange dog didn’t act aggressively toward me, she would not act aggressively to the dog.

  “More to the point,” John said, “he’s an impeccably trained dog.” He bent down and gave Flint a rather awkward pat on the head. “Let’s show this dog expert what you can do, okay boy?” He then asked me if I’d mind putting Pavlov at a distance from Baxter and me. I had her lie down, then we moved several steps away from her. John pointed at Baxter and me. “Blue, separate.”

  Flint trotted toward us and squeezed between us. He kept pushing against us until he had room to turn around, then he sat down and looked at John. (No lie, it was cute as all get-out.) “Blue,” John said, pointing at Baxter, then Felicity, and back at Baxter, “join.”

  “Hey,” Felicity objected. “I’m holding Pippa.”

  “Set her down,” John said.

  Once again, Flint made short work of the command, pushing into Baxter’s and Felicity’s knees until they were standing beside each other, both laughing at how persistent and successful he’d been. Pippa, meanwhile, was barking nonstop, but Flint paid her no mind.

  I clapped. “Bravo, Flint! You’re amazing.” Then I called
Pavlov to come and gave her a treat. No sense making her jealous, after all.

  “And adorable,” Baxter said. He gave Felicity a pat on the shoulder. “Sorry, Felicity, but I for one would happily pay theater prices to watch Flint do that on stage.”

  “No worries,” she said, “so would I. But I’d also rather watch Pippa than Flint fail at doing that on stage.”

  John gave her an annoyingly smug grin. “Allida here is a dog whisperer of sorts. I’m sure she’ll have all of these dog issues resolved in no time.”

  I gave him an exaggerated grimace. “Nothing like starting work under pressure.”

  “I’m sure you can deliver the goods, Allie. My buddy Baxter would never steer me the wrong way. Would you, bro?”

  “Never,” Baxter echoed and winked at me with a big smile on his face.

  I tried to return the smile, but in truth, my pulse rate was rising. I’d made a joke out of it just now, but John had just now ignored my caveats when I accepted this job. I had warned him that it could take me quite a while to get to the bottom of Flint’s troubles. Meanwhile, the dog was even better trained than I’d imagined. I had absolutely no idea why he was messing up in front of an audience, and I was being very well-paid to come up with the solution.

  My reputation and self-image were at stake. The curtain would be rising for tonight’s performance in some three hours.

  Chapter 2

  “I’ll abide by your decision on putting either Pavlov or Flint on stage tonight,” John told me. “But the last thing I want is one more performance with Flint losing all of his training the moment he sets foot on the stage. From my own experience as an actor, the more times you repeat a miscue, the harder it is to correct the next time you’re on stage. So I’d prefer we use Pavlov. But it’s your call.”

  Neither choice appealed. Pavlov with no rehearsals, versus more-ingrained mistakenness for Flint. The latter would only be worthwhile if my being present helped me observe something I’d missed on the videos.

  “Allie told me she suspects someone in the audience was blowing a dog whistle,” Baxter interjected.

  “I couldn’t be certain,” I added, “but Flint moved his head and took a step toward the same side of the theater at the start of his foul ups. So, I think the first thing we should try is having Pavlov backstage with Baxter monitoring her behavior while Flint’s on stage. Both dogs will react to a dog whistle.”

  “And meanwhile, Allie can be keeping an eye on the audience,” Baxter said.

  We exchanged smiles. He was already doing a great job as my assistant. Baxter had his own dog-related business that was going strong. He designed and sold customized doghouses that doubled as outer-shells for dog crates. One design—his “Snoopy Dog Home”—was so popular, thanks in part to a friend of ours, he’d gotten a Trademark and was mass-producing it. Viewed from the side, Baxter’s design looked identical to the Peanuts drawing. Viewed from the front—which the actual Snoopy doghouse never was—small, protruding ledges along the bottom of the roof were perfectly sized for small dogs paws, and the top of the doghouse featured a flat surface, with a waterproof pillow affixed. A Beagle-owning friend of ours had an enormous following in social-media. Photos of her Beagle, lying supine on his Snoopy Dog Home, had gone viral.

  “Sounds good,” John eventually replied, albeit with no enthusiasm.

  “You’re giving Flint his commands via a wireless one-way device, with a tiny speaker near his ear, right?” I asked.

  “Right. I’ve been giving him the commands myself. I’m also an understudy for either of the two male roles. I have a printed script that I can give to Felicity or Valerie, the theater manager, if I need to be on stage. So far that hasn’t been necessary.”

  “And you trained Flint to differentiate and interact with the actors on stage according to their costumes, I assume? So he won’t get confused by an understudy taking over a role of his former owner?”

  “Right.”

  “Have they been rehearsing with their costumes since day one?”

  “Kind of,” Felicity answered for him. “I decided on the fabric for the foursome’s clothing, and they draped or pinned on the fabric during rehearsal. Once costumes were made, they’d wear at least one item. We’ve maintained that policy when the understudies rehearse.”

  “Is there a difference in the scent of the costumes between rehearsals and actual performances?”

  “There shouldn’t be,” Felicity said. “Costumes have to be washed every single night after the performances. We wondered about their scent after opening night, so I took over the laundry duties myself. It made no difference whatsoever. Flint was just as boggled the next performance.”

  “To test the issue farther,” John said, “we added a dress rehearsal prior to the third performance and didn’t wash the costumes in between. Flint was spot on for the stage rehearsal. An hour later, he was a disaster. It was as if we’d pulled some clueless Border Collie off the street.”

  “Could it be stage fright?” I asked. “Could he simply be distracted by all the sounds and smells of a full audience?”

  He sighed and lifted his arms as if in defeat. “Who knows? If so, maybe after a couple more performances, he’ll snap out of it. But he’s used to performing in front of audiences. He’s an old hand at herding competitions. At the Denver Stock Show, he had all kinds of distractions. Albeit, he was working with sheep, not people, and in an arena, not a theater.”

  I caught Felicity glaring at John. He raised his eyebrow in reply. There seemed to be some unpleasant nonverbal communication between the two, but I didn’t know how to ask about it politely, and merely hoped it had nothing to do with Flint’s woes.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Felicity said. She slapped her thigh, and Pippa came toward her. “My Pugster and I need to get back to work.”

  I replied that it was nice meeting her, too, and waited until I could assume she was out of hearing range. “Sorry to ask a personal question, but you and Felicity used to live together along with Flint, right?”

  His brow furrowed, and I held up a hand in apology. “Dogs often misbehave when there is a significant change to the members of their packs.”

  John grimaced. “Felicity and I broke up a couple of months ago.”

  “Are you dating someone new?”

  “Um, yeah. But I doubt—” He cleared his throat. “I started seeing one of my two lead actresses. And we’ve really hit it off. So, geez, I don’t know. I mean, yeah, it’s crossed my mind as problematic, since Sally moving in with us and Flint barking at her on stage was more or less simultaneous. But Sally’s crazy about Flint”

  “That’s ironic,” Baxter said, echoing my thoughts.

  “Flint could be basically acting out the very issues that ‘Blue’ in the play is experiencing,” I told John. “He could be trying to keep Sally away from you.”

  John grimaced. “I hope not. He treats her just fine offstage and doesn’t try to separate us. It’d be so much better if it was just some punk kid who’s maybe passing along his dog whistle to his buddies at each performance.”

  “More likely it’s a dog squeaky toy with a dog whistle in it,” Baxter noted. “Squeezing a small toy would be easier to do surreptitiously than blowing a whistle.” In addition to his doghouse/crate business, he also managed pet shows and events. He’d become familiar with every dog gadget on the market.

  Flint sat up abruptly and stared at the front door.

  A pretty, petite young blonde entered the theater, closely followed by a tall—if slightly paunchy—man. John’s attention went directly to the woman. His face lit up. “Sally! Hi! We were just talking about you,” he cried.

  “How flattering. I was just thinking about you.” She walked up to John and gave him a quick kiss. I studied Flint for his reaction. He gave none. No ears turning backward. No move to get up and intervene, as if to assert his placement as John’s second-in-command. He was content to stay his ground and wait for Sally to come to him. I so admired
dogs like Flint. They were such a credit to dog-kind. Even though he was now trained to “herd” Sally, he knew he wasn’t on duty.

  “Yeesh. Young love. Clogs the arteries.” The man said, interrupting my thought pattern. He gave me a visual once-over. “We came over to meet our Wonder-dog fixer-upper.”

  “Hi. I’m Allie Babcock.” I’d never been called a “wonder-dog fixer-upper.” It sounded like a description for someone on a reality TV show.

  “I’m late with introductions,” John said. “This is Sally Johnson. Sally, Allie Babcock. Allie, Sally.” John chuckled. He seemed almost giddy.

  “I’m Hammond Davis,” the man said, grabbing the reins. “Feel free to call me Hammie. My nickname, of course, proves that my parents knew from the very start they were raising an actor.”

  “Ah,” I said, which, while meaningless, was better than voicing my thoughts. He struck me as possessing the “aren’t I ever-so-charming” personality type that I disliked. That was probably highly useful for the stage, however, especially with those leading-man looks of his.

  I returned Baxter’s grin, realizing that he was reading my mind. Now there was a gorgeous man, if you ask me. I was so crazy about him, I would have thought of him as gorgeous regardless of his physical appearance—which, by the way, was sexy as can be. He’s got a long, lean cyclist’s build, adorable dimples, and sparkling blue eyes, with so many cowlicks in his light brown hair, he has a constant case of bed-head.

  John introduced Baxter and made small talk. Hammond gave me a wry grin and said, “You’re awfully quiet. Cat got your tongue?”

  I forced a smile. “I’m on the clock. I’m here to observe.”

  “Come here, Flint,” Sally said. The dog rose and came over to her. She gave him a big hug around the chest, which the dog accepted without complaint. That was a no-no for some dogs. From a canine perspective, she was signaling her dominance over him. “You are such a good boy,” she cooed, in an accurate appraisal.