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Authors: Bill Berloni
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was perfectly calm under the big white drape in the opening. He played with Scotty and went off, part of a perfect serene picture. In the second act, the family is having a picnic. Fritz wanders across the stage into the woods, to where we know the creature is hiding. We hear an offstage cry, and the creature carries in the puppet dog and puts it right on the edge of the stage, where the audience can get a good look at it. Scotty comes in, sees his dog hurt, and gets upset. As the creature tries to calm him, he kills the boy, too. It was very effective.
During previews, the writer and director decided Fritz’s calm disposition wouldn’t prompt the creature to hurt him. They asked if Fritz could run offstage as if he were attacking something. While it made sense, it was hard to do. I had searched for a dog that was very calm so he wouldn’t upstage the action. Fritz rarely got excited about anything, and that’s what made him perfect for the first-act scenes. So each day during rehearsals, I tried toys, balls, every food from Milk-Bones to steak, but the most he would do was get center stage and then trot toward the wings. I was at a loss. I couldn’t find anything in his daily life with me that would make him run. And the director was politely asking when I would make it work because it would really help the scene. I was stumped. Then one day I saw my friend Mary Lee walking her dog. It was a little black poodle named Fleur, and she had a diaper on. I asked why, and Mary Lee said Fleur was in heat, and it was the only way to keep the apartment clean.
“Monster? What monster?”
Then it hit me. What was the one thing Fritz had done well all his life? Be a stud. So I asked Mary Lee to bring Fleur to the theater. I made her my assistant and put her stage right. I went up and got Fritz and gave him to the stage manager, stage left. On cue I had them release Fritz, with Maryholding Fleur behind the curtain next to me. When Fritz hit center stage, I called his name, and when he looked, I pulled the curtain back. There he saw Mary holding this little black poodle. He took one sniff and ran to her like a bat out of hell. At the moment he hit the wings, I sent Mary Lee and Fleur one way and I grabbed Fritz and went in the other direction. I said to him, “Sorry, buddy, you missed her. Maybe you’ll get her tomorrow night.” The director and writer were thrilled. When I told them how we did it, they couldn’t believe it. For the rest of the run it worked perfectly. Fleur was soon out of heat, but it didn’t matter. Fritz was determined he was going to get that girl one day, and he kept on trying.
The next night, a half-hour before the curtain went up, I was called to the stage door. An officer from the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) stood there—a very large man, in full uniform with badge and gun—asking to speak to the animal trainer. I said, “That’s me.” He said, “We’ve received complaints about a dog being drugged in this show, and we’re here to investigate.”
“Drugged?” I said. “We would never drug an animal.”
“Well, the complaint says that someone has tranquilized a dog,” the officer said.
All of a sudden it made sense to me. It only took a few seconds for Fritz to walk offstage and the creature to enter with the puppet. Animal lovers must have thought the only way to make it happen was to drug the dog. I started to laugh, and I told the officer the story. He did not laugh. We worked it out with the stage manager to show him the puppet. While he was intrigued, he said he still had to see the scene in question to make sure no animals were being harmed. So now I had to handle a poodle in heat, Fritz, and an ASPCA officer to make sure no one got hurt, all at the same time. Once the officer had watched the scene, he thanked me for being so cooperative and said he would write up his report.
We thought it was over and done with until the next night, when he
During previews, the writer and director decided Fritz’s calm disposition wouldn’t prompt the creature to hurt him. They asked if Fritz could run offstage as if he were attacking something. While it made sense, it was hard to do. I had searched for a dog that was very calm so he wouldn’t upstage the action. Fritz rarely got excited about anything, and that’s what made him perfect for the first-act scenes. So each day during rehearsals, I tried toys, balls, every food from Milk-Bones to steak, but the most he would do was get center stage and then trot toward the wings. I was at a loss. I couldn’t find anything in his daily life with me that would make him run. And the director was politely asking when I would make it work because it would really help the scene. I was stumped. Then one day I saw my friend Mary Lee walking her dog. It was a little black poodle named Fleur, and she had a diaper on. I asked why, and Mary Lee said Fleur was in heat, and it was the only way to keep the apartment clean.
“Monster? What monster?”
Then it hit me. What was the one thing Fritz had done well all his life? Be a stud. So I asked Mary Lee to bring Fleur to the theater. I made her my assistant and put her stage right. I went up and got Fritz and gave him to the stage manager, stage left. On cue I had them release Fritz, with Maryholding Fleur behind the curtain next to me. When Fritz hit center stage, I called his name, and when he looked, I pulled the curtain back. There he saw Mary holding this little black poodle. He took one sniff and ran to her like a bat out of hell. At the moment he hit the wings, I sent Mary Lee and Fleur one way and I grabbed Fritz and went in the other direction. I said to him, “Sorry, buddy, you missed her. Maybe you’ll get her tomorrow night.” The director and writer were thrilled. When I told them how we did it, they couldn’t believe it. For the rest of the run it worked perfectly. Fleur was soon out of heat, but it didn’t matter. Fritz was determined he was going to get that girl one day, and he kept on trying.
The next night, a half-hour before the curtain went up, I was called to the stage door. An officer from the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) stood there—a very large man, in full uniform with badge and gun—asking to speak to the animal trainer. I said, “That’s me.” He said, “We’ve received complaints about a dog being drugged in this show, and we’re here to investigate.”
“Drugged?” I said. “We would never drug an animal.”
“Well, the complaint says that someone has tranquilized a dog,” the officer said.
All of a sudden it made sense to me. It only took a few seconds for Fritz to walk offstage and the creature to enter with the puppet. Animal lovers must have thought the only way to make it happen was to drug the dog. I started to laugh, and I told the officer the story. He did not laugh. We worked it out with the stage manager to show him the puppet. While he was intrigued, he said he still had to see the scene in question to make sure no animals were being harmed. So now I had to handle a poodle in heat, Fritz, and an ASPCA officer to make sure no one got hurt, all at the same time. Once the officer had watched the scene, he thanked me for being so cooperative and said he would write up his report.
We thought it was over and done with until the next night, when he
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