Rambo

Once upon a time in Fall 2002, I stage-managed the musical Gypsy. In prep for it, I was in constant summertime contact with our director, who was flying in for rehearsals from New York City. Really nice lady, and I knew working with her would be great - which it was. Her only true request: Mama Rose needs a REAL dog. Getting a trained dog was out of the question for the amount of money we'd have to spend.
Stage managers aren't typically involved in prop purchases, but for this particular theater at this particular time, I figured I could tackle it. ...and is a live dog REALLY a prop??
Since the cast was set and I had been in contact with all of them anyway for various scheduling, costume fittings and other random reasons, I decided to e-mail them and my crew en masse to ask if anyone might have a small dog already, handy and up for the task. Responses were all similar: "I have a doberman," "I have a St. Bernard." Fantastic. Until: "I don't, my my next-door neighbor is affiliated with a shelter and I'm sure she can help you." ...and so, St. Francis Rescue, Inc., came into my life.
Theater administration decided it would be great to get a stray and have audience members meet the dog after the show, learn it's story, contribute to the rescue league and maybe raffle the dog off at the end to the people who could provide the best home.
St. Francis called me to say they had the perfect stray: Pomeranian, red, male, approximately one year old, blind in one eye from birth. The blindness meant he was "on sale," and I had already told the theater I'd fork out the fee to adopt the dog. He was found wandering the mean streets of Birmingham and we could go pick him up right away. "We," by the way...was me. Perfect! Cut and dried, right? Wrong.
St. Francis representatives had to do a house visit to inspect the home where the dog would live. I had to fill out umpteen pages of information: personal info, personal banking info, credit info, have I ever euthanized a pet, would I ever euthanize a pet, what circumstances would it take for me to euthanize a pet, would I ever abandon a pet, had I ever abandoned a pet, mother's maiden name, future plans if I died unexpectedly as to what would happen to this pet...you get the idea. I wish that human parents were required to fill out as much paperwork to adopt human babies. Truly.
I was given a polaroid photo (old school even then) of "Rambo," sitting happily on a sofa and was told that he was found wandering a laundromat parking lot in the heat of summer, all sad, and was currently living in a home with the laundromat manager, her small children, 17 other dogs and sleeping in a banana crate. How to break my heart into small pieces: tell me a story like that. Thankfully, my home passed muster and off I drove on Labor Day 2002 to get this dog.
I was greeted by a scary, cowboy-killer-smoking, 400-pound woman who informed me that, "Rambo don't take kindly to strangers," as I knelt down to meet him. He bounced up into my lap, licking my hands and face, not indicating in any way that I was someone to not take kindly to. He let me pick him up and he pretty much collapsed in my arms in a very contented way and nuzzled there. Break my heart into little tiny pieces some more, please. "Well, he seems to like you quite a lot! Congratulations, girl, you got you a new dog!!" Thanks, lady. I gave her a check for her vet (adopters pay the vet, who has already neutered and vaccinated them, gratis) and we were on our way. We stopped at the AL/GA border to get to know each other and he seemed like a very sweet, albeit skitterish, dog. Within a few hours: welcome to the stage - rehearsals, tech, previews, and run. What the heck did he sign up for??
He was not a fan of small children in any way, shape, or form. Baby June got nipped, but trust me, she deserved it. No blood drawn, just a warning snap. He was not a fan of the orchestra, bright lights, applause, or much else. He tolerated Mama Rose and the other folks who had to hold him onstage, but some nights didn't make it through the scenes he was supposed to be in. Our director and I thought he had been abused fairly severely, judging by his odd behavior. He had been placed in a bizarre situation, but still. He WAS a fan of the attention when people would meet him after show, and he had fun with the actors backstage. For the most part, he was happy astride my arm whilst carried around and otherwise happy being fed, walked, and left alone to sleep.
He got a photo and write-up in the AJC's Peach Buzz as the only actor in the show with his own dressing room, albeit a cage in the Managing Director's office.
Rambo had a "wrangler," one of the theater interns, who spoiled him rotten, and since he wasn't needed after Scene 4 or so, he spent each intermission and Act 2 with me in the booth. He followed me around everywhere I went, and does to this day. I try not to anthropomorphize, but I think that somehow he knows that he's leading a tremendously better life than he would have, had I not come along. I'm sure you've guessed by now: we didn't raffle him off - the rescue league put the kibosh on that from the get-go.
Nearly 7 years later, he's nearly blind in the other eye, can barely hear, and is generally a grumpy and mean old man. He still "loves" me, and is sweet to humans, as long as those humans don't smell like a vet's office. That said, I spent my lunch hour today taking him to the vet to board while I'm away. He is all teeth there; big red sticker on his file: "Will Bite!" ...and he ain't kiddin'. It was a long and painful check-in, poor fella.
So. Be good, Rambo. I'll be back before you know it.