Oodles of Poodles (2 page)

I adore animals, and will do nearly anything not only to save them, but to make them happy, too.

That made it particularly hard to look through the chain-link fence at the end of the kennel run in the facility I was visiting and see that adorable, sad doggy face.

The white miniature poodle sat there, head cocked, eyes on mine as if begging me to get her out, hug her, find her the perfect new home.

“I’m sorry, Sheba,” I said softly. “I can’t do anything right now but it’ll be all right. I promise.”

I never make idle promises, but this one was especially true. Sheba wasn’t just any sad little rescue dog like the ones I nurture at my excellent private shelter. In fact, although this sweet poodle had apparently gone through hell so far in
her short life, it had turned to puppy perfection—or at least it ultimately would, even if she didn’t know it.

At the moment, she was waiting for the next scene to be shot in the already touted major Hollywood movie about her fictional counterpart, also named Sheba. The film’s name?
Sheba’s Story
.

“She’s one cute little girl, isn’t she, Lauren?” said my good friend Dr. Carlie Stellan, who had come with me to the set this day. She and her veterinary staff had been there on many other days as well. “Sheba’s bound to become a popular movie star, don’t you think? She and all her similar-looking friends. How many are there?”

Like me, Carlie was dressed well in a nice pantsuit, hers blue and mine charcoal. She’s a pretty blond and is used to being in front of the camera. She stars in her own reality TV show,
Pet Fitness
, on the Longevity Vision Channel.

I’m Lauren Vancouver, average looking, with green eyes and dark hair that I keep short so it doesn’t get in the way as I take care of animals. I have no need to impress anyone with my appearance.

“There are four dogs that play Sheba that I know of so far,” I responded. I hadn’t realized it before I got involved in this filming, but each dog or other creature depicted on a movie screen might be a conglomeration of several similar-looking animals. Each lookalike would have a different specialty in action or reaction thanks to his training, or he may represent the star at different ages. Sometimes they even wore makeup to appear identical. They really were actors.

The forlorn dog here waiting for the latest scene to shoot,
was the number one Sheba, both the actor and the real dog. Like the Shebas in the film, she’d had a miserable existence as a puppy but now all was good in her life. She had been discovered and was on her way to stardom.

Knowing that the filming process was one of hurry up and wait, I shouldn’t have felt so antsy but I did. This poor dog shouldn’t be kept waiting so long.

I looked around the pseudo-kennel area. It was actually a film set, one modeled somewhat on HotRescues, the private pet rescue facility where I’m the chief administrator. I’d given the director and a few members of the film crew a tour of HotRescues to make sure they knew what an excellent shelter looked like.

This one was composed of several kennel runs, which were empty right now except for Sheba, all surrounded by filming equipment that included cameras on wheels, mechanical booms that could lift people wielding camera gear or just the cameras themselves, sound recording gadgetry, lots of lighting equipment, and items I couldn’t begin to identify. Beyond were buildings that were the soundstages and administrative offices of Solario Studios in Woodland Hills, in the western part of L.A.’s San Fernando Valley.

I heard a lot of voices of people who remained beyond the set and out of my sight, probably discussing how to shoot the next scene. Or maybe they were just talking about the weather.

I decided it was time to take action, for Sheba’s sake. There were two people I could talk to and try to get things moving.

One was Hans Marford. The renowned director was
working on this movie. That helped with publicizing it even this early in the production process as a potential blockbuster and Hollywood awards contender.

The other was Grant Jefferly, the “Certified Animal Safety Representative” assigned to this film by the American Humane Association—the only group that can certify that “No Animals Were Harmed,” which actually was a registered trademark of theirs. The designation “Certified Animal Safety Representative” was also a trademark.

“Let’s find out what’s going on,” I told Carlie and began walking out of the kennel area.

I first saw Hans at the edge of a crowd of people. He was talking, using his hands for emphasis, and everyone seemed to listen intently. Some were cast members, others were crew, and a few were dog handlers.

“This is a crucial scene,” I heard him say as we got closer. “It’s near the end, right where Millie makes the final decision that she’ll adopt Sheba as her own. You ready for it, Millie?”

Hans was a tall, thin man with a mop of wavy gray hair, which he used to help him communicate. I’d seen him run his fingers through it in frustration and nod his head till his hair fluttered in the breeze he created. His nose was a long beak over straight, narrow lips, which he also sucked in to make a point, and he wore thick, dark-rimmed glasses.

“Let’s run through it, Hans,” said Lyanne Shroeder. Yes,
the
Lyanne Shroeder, the youthful actress who was emerging as one of Hollywood’s top stars. A petite brunette with a winsome smile, she played the main human character in the film, Millie Roland, who ultimately rescued and adopted
the Sheba character. “I’ll show you how I think Millie would react.”

Good. Something was about to occur that would at least give Sheba some attention. Even so, I edged through the now dissipating crowd toward Grant. He was a handsome guy, probably in his mid-forties—around my age. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he had aspirations of stardom himself. Instead, he wore a vest with the
AMERICAN HUMANE ASSOCIATION
logo over his gray T-shirt. He was the person who would ascertain whether the coveted “No Animals Were Harmed” certification would ultimately be given to this film.

Carlie and I stopped beside him. “I know it’s not cruelty, but poor Sheba—the real one—looks lonesome,” I told him. “I’m glad the filming’s going forward now.”

He smiled at me, revealing even, gleaming white teeth. “Glad to have additional observers around on this set,” he said. “But a little bit of downtime might actually be a good thing for our little Sheba. She’s had a busy morning.”

“She sure did,” I acknowledged.

The three of us—Carlie, Grant, and I—stayed out of the way as the rest of the gang started prepping for their scene, then filming it. I watched as the Millie character walked by the kennel and stopped to look in at the sad little poodle inside, as I had. Maybe Sheba was even remembering what it felt like to be a stray.

A trainer I knew only as Cowan stood in the background. He gave a hand signal and Sheba stood on her hind legs, her front paws on the mesh gate of the kennel. Millie/Lyanne unlatched the gate and stooped to let Sheba hop
into her arms. I couldn’t hear the dialogue, but I watched as Millie hugged Sheba, who licked her face in a way that suggested she was lapping up the human’s tears. The scene made me just as emotional as the actress pretended to be.

“Cut!” I heard Hans shout. “Let’s do it again, but that looked good.”

Even so, he shot at least a half-dozen more takes. After that, he let the cast and crew dissipate, all but the assistants who were dog handlers. I’d met some of them, and the person who took charge of Sheba was one I’d spoken with—Jerry Amalon, a young, enthusiastic kid who immediately snapped a leash on Sheba’s collar, gently roughhoused with her for a minute, gave her a treat, and led her off.

Just to be sure all was well, Carlie and I accompanied Grant to the area where the many other dogs that were part of the shoot were being kept.

No apparent worries there about how the animals were treated. A large, open area in one of the buildings had been converted into what could pass for a doggy hotel, with fluffy bedding in each of the kennels. They were separated by fencing on top of a laminate floor that resembled posh wood and was cleaned at least twice a day. No more than two dogs occupied each kennel, and some had the enclosures to themselves. Jerry and the other handlers took each dog for walks often to ensure they remained housebroken.

In addition to the five or so dogs that played the Sheba character, there were a bunch of additional poodles that represented her siblings, as well as others including mixed breeds that played dogs she met and interacted with, per the film’s script.

There were enough dogs in the cast that American Humane had recommended a full-time vet. Carlie was there that day instead of one of her veterinary staff from The Fittest Pet Veterinary Hospital. She was too busy especially with her own TV show to commit to being there every day, but she’d been glad to help by assigning other vets in her office to come to the set. Even so, she, like I, enjoyed visiting from time to time.

Now, Carlie and I both played for a short while with some of the dogs until Grant motioned for the humans to join him. As we stood in the center of the kennel area, he began talking with the handlers and Cowan, the trainer, about some suggestions. On the whole, though, he sounded pretty pleased with how things were going so far.

One handler, a girl named Elena Derger whom I’d also met, came running inside with two poodles on a leash. She was panting and laughing. “Sorry,” she said to no one in particular, since Grant had smiled and motioned to her to join the group. “These two have lots of energy.” She proceeded to lead them to one of the empty kennels.

Before Grant could continue, though, one of Hans Marford’s assistants joined us. “There’s an all-hands meeting just starting about tomorrow’s filming schedule,” she said. “Hans would like all of you there.”

I doubted she meant Carlie and me, but we followed anyway. The next day was a Tuesday. I’d spent more time today on the set than I’d intended so I wasn’t planning to come to the filming. Even so, it would be interesting to hear what would be going on.

The cast and crew were gathered at an area that had
probably been designed on the studio lot for such impromptu meetings, since it had a podium surrounded by wooden bleachers. Most people were seated, but Hans stood in the middle. He spoke loudly enough that no microphone was in his hands, which he waved and gesticulated with as if they were integral to his announcement.

“Thanks to excellent footwork by our production staff, we received a permit to film on some Valley streets tomorrow rather than having to wait any longer. We’re therefore going to shoot some of the film’s early scenes over the next week or two, including those where Sheba and her siblings escape from the nasty people who grabbed up her mother once the puppies were born. Refer to pages three through seven of the script, which describe this part and includes all their weaving through traffic to elude their former owners and get away. Lots of action here. That’s what we’ll be working on.”

“It won’t involve the dogs much and will be choreographed safely for them, the way we’ve already discussed, right?” called Grant. He had come from the kennel area with Carlie and me but now stood at the front of the bleachers.

“I’m sure you’ll let us know if it isn’t safe.” Hans shot him a glare. Because Grant had interrupted him, or because he didn’t like the reminder that he had to protect the animals while devising a scene to awe moviegoers? I hoped it was the former. A lot could be done digitally, I knew, so there was no need to endanger the dogs.

The filming had started four weeks earlier. I’d been there a few times, and had no reason to believe that the idea of “No Animals Were Harmed” had been, or ever would
be, violated. That would make no sense at all for a movie of this kind, especially considering the way it was already being publicized.

But catching the way Grant and Hans now glared at each other, I had to wonder.

Chapter 2

HotRescues is located in Grenada Hills, which isn’t too far from Woodland Hills. Even so, this was L.A., so traffic kept me away from where I wanted to be for much longer than I’d hoped.

Eventually, though, I parked my Toyota Venza—the vehicle I’d bought because of its pet-friendly configuration and accessories—in the parking lot and entered the welcome area via the side door.

Fortunately, it wasn’t very late so Nina Guzman, my assistant administrator, was still there. She sat behind the leopard-print reception desk working on her computer. Behind her were lots of recently updated photos of happy adopters and the former HotRescues inhabitants who were now part of their families, displaying well on the bright yellow walls. I loved to look at those pictures.

I was immediately greeted not only by Nina, but also by Zoey, my own sweet Border collie–Australian shepherd mix. She was mostly black and white, with some merle gray thrown in.

“Hi, Nina,” I said as I knelt to hug Zoey, who licked my face. “Hi, Zoey.” Even though my tone was warm when I spoke to Nina, when I talked to Zoey I sounded even warmer. And no wonder: My kids were both away at college, so Zoey was my closest nearby family member.