Broadway Tails (24 page)

Each night before the show, Barney would make his rounds. All the dressing rooms were up five flights of stairs. Thirty minutes before the show started, Rob would lead Barney from dressing room to dressing
room for a quick hello. Ben and Mark gave him special treats, and Barney would run to their doors, bark, and scratch. The script called for an unkempt poodle, so we let Barney’s hair grow out. By the time we closed, he looked like a mop.

The show opened in mid-April, got great reviews, and won the Tony Award for Best Revival of a Play. There was talk of extending the run, but just like
The Lieutenant of Inishmore
, serious drama can’t make money on Broadway. As planned, they had a limited run of ninety-two performances and closed in June. For a few weeks I could watch the first and second acts of
Awake and Sing!
to see Barney perform, then walk over to
Inishmore
for the last bit with Ed the cat.

The year between 2005 and 2006 helped enhance my reputation as the “go-to” trainer for Broadway shows, but I couldn’t help wondering—where was the next
Annie
? Where was the show about a girl and her dog that would run a long time?

In the summer of 2005, I was in St. Louis for a production of
Annie
. I was invited to lunch with Mike Isaacson, a producer from Fox Theatricals who had worked with my wife, Dorothy, and become friendly. Now, animal trainers aren’t often asked to “do lunch,” but people in the theater never turn down a free meal. He told me that his group was partnering with two New York producers to do a musical based on the movie
Legally Blonde
, which featured a Chihuahua in a key role. There was also a small part for an English bulldog. Mike was representing the other producers and asked if I would be interested in working on the show.

For that brief moment in St. Louis, I felt after thirty years, I had arrived—I was being asked to be part of the team in the early stages of a new show. I said I was honored, and asked if there were any plans. He explained they were going to take the old-fashioned route of a reading first, then a workshop in New York. If it came together, there would be an out-of-town tryout and, finally, Broadway. It’s much more expensive, but it’s much less risky than trying to open immediately on Broadway. I was all for this.

In November I received an invitation to the reading of
Legally Blonde
in New York. In the movie, Bruiser, the Chihuahua, is the constant companion of Elle Woods, the lead character. As the musical opens, the sorority girls can’t find Elle. Bruiser comes running to center stage, tapping a character on the leg and having a five-line “conversation” with her, where he barks, and she listens. He was indicated in scenes when she gets to Harvard. He growled at Elle’s romantic rival. In the second act, Bruiser helps Elle win her case by barking when a witness is lying, and then pulling a shower curtain back and forth to reveal a plot point.

My initial reaction was that it was an upbeat, fun, high-energy musical. My second thought was all the barking wouldn’t work. Remember, on film you only have to get it right once—onstage, it’s a totally different story. Never in theater history had a dog had “lines.” Sandy barked on cue in
Annie
and
Annie Warbucks
, but we accomplished that by directing the whole scene around the dog, and it was only one line, not five.

In January 2006 I was contacted by the producers to officially work on the show. I was told there would be a workshop in May. Workshops in New York could be very costly, but they give the creative team and potential investors a chance to see the show on its feet. For this workshop, the producers felt there would be no time to focus on the dogs. I explained how much money and time they could save if I was involved. I promised I wouldn’t take any rehearsal time away, but acclimating the dogs, plus giving the director a chance to see how a dog looks in a scene, would be very helpful. They agreed, and in February we began our search for Bruiser.

In March I had my first face-to-face meeting with Jerry Mitchell, the director. Jerry and I are about the same age and came to New York at about the same time. He was a dancer who had worked his way up from the chorus. He had specific ideas for Bruiser, but he had never really worked with animals onstage. I felt we needed two dogs, like I had used in several other shows—an active dog to do the barking behaviors, and then a very calm, quiet dog that could easily be held or carried onstage for long periods of time without stealing focus away from the actors. We agreed that this would be a good place to start, and then he could plug them in during the workshop as a test. As for the bulldog, she would run onstage and get picked up by one of the actresses and carried off.

I had never trained dogs this small for the stage that weren’t carried around. Little dogs don’t realize they have been shrunk by man’s breeding. They have the same DNA as a wolf, so they perceive the world as a place filled with giants. They can be either frightened messes or dogs with Napoleonic complexes. The quiet dog was easy. The active dog would need to think he was a Great Dane. I needed a dog with enough self-confidence to come out onstage and bark repeatedly in front of two thousand people, an orchestra, and a company of actors. But dogs that have that kind of courage usually are aggressive as well.

We turned to Petfinder.com, and the two most promising Chihuahuas were in New Jersey. Petfinder.com said the Associated Humane Society had a young, outgoing male named Chico. Not far from Newark, a rescue group had an eight-month-old named Taco. I made arrangements to drive the four hours to New Jersey to see both dogs.

I met Chico first. He had been surrendered by an elderly couple who said their grandchildren were allergic to him. As a result, Chico had been tied out in their yard in Newark and thought he was a guard dog. When I arrived I was met by Roseann Trezza, an old friend who was now president of the shelter. When she heard I was coming, she checked the dog and was not pleased. He was was young and healthy, but so “outgoing” that he bit the staff. It was not the information I wanted to hear, but I decided to look at the dog anyway.

The staff warned me that Chico didn’t like treats, didn’t like to be touched, and would lunge at me. As I came into his sight, he was sitting at the back of his cage. Alert, defiant, he immediately started barking. The workers said he needed to be lassoed to get him out of the cage, but he liked to go for long walks. The guys gave me a leash and stepped back. I walked up to the cage and he went back, growling. I leaned onto the cage with my back to him and held the door open with my left hand. After a minute or so he stopped barking. I started talking to him soothingly. I wasn’t yelling, I wasn’t reaching in, and I wasn’t grabbing. In another minute he tiptoed over to me. I didn’t move because he was right near my face. He
sniffed, I looked at him and he retreated, barking. I kept up my talking and put my hand out, and he came over to sniff it, and then jumped into the crook of my arm.

After a few more minutes I was able to pet him. I slipped the leash over his head. I took a glance around and there was a crowd of people watching in disbelief. As I tightened the leash around his neck, he freaked. I quickly put him on the ground, at which time he lunged at the staff. I let him lead me to the door. Chico dragged me down the street, barking at everyone to get out of his way, trying to bite the tires of tractor-trailers, marking to let the world know that he was there. After about five minutes, I knelt down and he did something totally unexpected. He came to my side, sat down, and leaned into me. He wanted to touch me, but when I brought my hand down to pet him, he growled. He wanted contact with humans but didn’t know how to accept it. In that moment my heart said to me,
This dog deserves a second chance
, even if my head said
Never use a biting dog in a show
.

In my mind I knew he would probably be put down. The small biters are a liability to the reputation and security of animal shelters. Roseann apologized for wasting my time. I interrupted her and said, “I’d like to give him a try.”

She looked at me in disbelief. “You always say you can’t take biting dogs.”

“I know, but there’s something about this dog,” I said. “He’ll never be a star, he might be an understudy, and anyway, who are you going to adopt
him to?” Chico had looked into my eyes and instantly connected somewhere deep inside. It’s as if he said, “If you save me, I’ll save you back.” By now I had had enough experience to go with that feeling.

My next stop was a Petco in northern New Jersey to see Taco. He and his sister Bell were in a pet shop where they hadn’t been sold, and the owner decided to euthanize them rather than discount them. The local vet persuaded the owner to relinquish them to rescue. Taco was very shy and quiet from being raised in a cage. This sort of situation is very sad. It reminds me of the psychological experiments they used to do on monkeys, where they would deprive them of socialization to see how it affected their development. Taco was seeing the world for the first time as an adult. Everything was new, and Taco had very slowly started to acclimate. In these cases you can only go as far as the dog wishes. I sat next to him, and after a while, I held him. He was apprehensive—not terrified, but concerned. He didn’t bite to get away, but he wanted to go back to what was familiar. I said I thought I could rehabilitate him. The rescue people listened intently and said they would consider it and get back to me.

Dorothy, Jenna, and I went back later that week to adopt Chico. When he saw me, I felt there was a twinge of recognition. I took him out, walked him, and explained to Jenna how you can’t approach this dog like another dog. Everything was going great. I signed the adoption papers, but as we were leaving, I went to adjust the neckpiece on his harness and he whipped around and bit my finger. It was my own fault. I joked that we had found one of his triggers, but that’s when it sunk in.
What had I gotten myself into?

We got home and training started immediately. Chico had to learn that people are friends. First, basic training would teach him there were rewards for listening to us. Second, he had to learn biting was not the answer when he didn’t get what he wanted. We kept a leash on him at all times, so if he got aggressive, we could control him without getting next to his body. When he growled or snapped, we invented a command called
No mouth
to identify what he was doing wrong. The first few days were very rough, but what was unusual
was he knew our family had no malice toward him, and he immediately took to us. He didn’t listen to us, but he would include us in his world.

Within a week, the producers called saying they had to film a promo for the San Francisco tryout at a hotel in New York City. They wanted a blonde Chihuahua to do a trick with the director. I hadn’t told the producers about Chico because I had so many reservations. I told them I didn’t have a trained Chihuahua available, but that I had just adopted one.

“Bring him!” they said.

I tried to explain that he was slightly difficult and that we were assessing him. If I told the truth, then there would have been a prejudice against him, so I warned if he became unsettled, I would just take him away, and we wouldn’t have a Chihuahua for the shoot. They were willing to take that chance. Dorothy came to the shoot with me because she knew all the producers, and I needed backup. The door opened and the producing, creative, and marketing staff all screamed in delight. Chico went into full attack mode in my arms. I held him and covered his face until he calmed down. We went in, and I took turns greeting everyone as I explained to them that Chico was overstimulated and needed to get acclimated. I put him down on his leash and he started sniffing the room, barking at everyone in his way.

Jerry Mitchell, who had been in the other room preparing, came in, yelling, “Where’s Bruiser? I hear a dog here!” I tried to calm Chico, who erupted in barking. Jerry said, “Dogs love me. Just let him go.” I asked Jerry to get down because he is so tall, and he lay down on the bed. Chico dragged me over to the bed, jumped up on Jerry, and licked his face. Jerry was laughing, and Chico was having a great time. Everyone else in the room, including me, was incredulous. There are people who love dogs and there are people who
understand
dogs. Jerry understood dogs, and Chico decided in that moment, Jerry could join our club. I had a second of optimism watching them bond, but this was still miles away from being onstage.