“I brought along some visual aids. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s good. Very good.” Patti nodded enthusiastically. “We love visuals. Besides the dogs, I mean. What have you got?”
I’d never really thought of my Westie and my Dalmatian as visual aids before. “Just some common household items that are dangerous to pets.”
“Cool. It sounds like you’ve got everything under control. Are you ready for makeup?”
“Actually, I put on a little lip gloss before I—”
“This way. Aldo is ready.”
“But—”
“You have no idea how brutal the lights in the studio can be,” she insisted. “Marlene, hold the visual aids while Dr. Popper’s in makeup. Maybe you should give those two some water or something.”
“But—” I protested.
“They’ll be fine,” Patti assured me. “Marlene is very good with children and animals and those kinds of things.”
I could tell this was nonnegotiable. Besides, Lou was a sucker for perfume, and he already seemed enamored of Marlene. So I followed Patti down the hall to a small dressing room that looked just like the ones I’d seen in a hundred movies and television shows. Three swivel chairs, the kind you find in hair salons, were lined up in front of a long mirror. The counter in front of them was covered with cosmetics, hair products, and several sets of electric rollers, the mere sight of which gave me heart palpitations.
But before I had a chance to explain that I had severe reservations about being made up to look like Joan Rivers, Patti placed her hands on my shoulders and commandeered me into one of the chairs.
“I’m sure Aldo will know exactly what to do with all this—oh, good. Here he is now.”
I glanced up as a slender young man with heavily gelled hair and a single earring breezed into the room.
“This is the amazing Aldo,” Patti cooed after the two of them exchanged air kisses. “He works magic with hair and makeup.”
“But I don’t usually wear makeup,” I protested. “And I think my hair looks fine. I just washed it this morning.”
“Honey, you have no idea what the camera does to a person,” Aldo gurgled. With a little shudder, he added, “It washes people out like high tide.”
“Then maybe a little color wouldn’t hurt,” I told him, making a point of emphasizing the word little. “But not too much—”
The glazed look in his eyes told me he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. He stood behind me, studying my reflection with his hands on his hips.
“Just look at her ears,” Aldo said to Patti, pursing his lips disapprovingly. “They stick out like Shrek’s horns.”
“My ears are fine!” I insisted, covering them protectively as if I didn’t want them to hear someone insulting them.
As for Aldo’s ears, they seemed to be on the fritz. Either that or he was choosing to ignore me. He shook his head, still studying my reflection in the mirror. “All I can say is that it’s a good thing her hair is so fluffy. She has this kind of cocker spaniel thing going.”
“My hair is not fluffy!” I protested. “Well, maybe a little, at least when it’s damp...”
Patti was nodding enthusiastically. “You’re absolutely right about her hair, Aldo. We’ll have to fix that, of course.”
I absolutely hate it when people talk about me in the third person. It makes me feel like I’m invisible—or else four years old.
I also hate it when somebody makes me look like someone I’m not. However, this time even I had to admit that Aldo had worked something very much like magic. Thanks to some chemicals in a spray can and a blow-dryer, my hair was soon an impressively sleek mane. As for my face, Aldo masterfully wielded a blush brush, a mascara wand, and a bunch of other powders and creams, achieving surprising results.
“You’re perfect!” he announced triumphantly. Leaning forward so Patti couldn’t hear, he whispered, “Or at least good enough for Channel Fourteen!”
While the makeover had turned out to be an interesting distraction, by the time I got back to the greenroom, I was dealing with some pretty serious butterfly action, even with the commotion of having my dogs returned to me. So I jumped when I heard somebody call, “Hey, Popper!”
“Forrester?” I cried, surprised.
Sure enough, he was standing in the doorway. “He-e-y! If it isn’t the latest media star. Can I have your autograph?”
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. I was already nervous enough without being teased.
“I’m not staying,” he said, leaning over to indulge Max and Lou with a little neck-scratching. “Just thought I’d stop by to give you a little moral support.” Grinning, he added, “And to find out what it feels like to be in the presence of greatness.”
“Actually, you’re in the presence of intense anxiety and raging regret.”
“Come on. Don’t tell me you’re nervous about this gig.”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “I’m fine. In fact, it’s perfectly normal for me to walk around in a cold sweat, feeling like I’m about to lose my breakfast.”
He laughed. “That’s the spirit. Knock ’em dead, Popper. If anybody can do it, you can.” Before walking out the door, he turned. “By the way, you look fantastic. Even better than usual—and I didn’t know that was possible.”
I didn’t get a chance to fend off the compliment. All of a sudden, it was showtime. Perky Patti reappeared, leading me and my dogs to the studio and delivering a monologue about what I should do and not do. Not a word of it went in. I felt like a zombie, as if in addition to Aldo’s magic with blow-dryers and makeup brushes, he’d also worked a little voodoo.
All I knew was that I suddenly glanced around and found myself in the same spot in which I’d auditioned, standing behind a counter with a cheering squad of stuffed animals surrounding me. Even the presence of Max and Lou, who seemed much cooler about the whole situation than I was, didn’t help.
A burly dark-haired man with cigar breath appeared from out of nowhere, gruffly identified himself as Mel, and hooked a tiny microphone onto my collar. And then, suddenly, a very bright light shone in my eyes, as if somebody was about to give me the third degree. Despite the light, I could see Patti in front of me, gesturing histrionically. Just like in the movies, she counted down, “Five, four, three...” then held up two fingers, then one, while mouthing the words.
The rectangular screen of the teleprompter lit up with words. Someone whose voice sounded an awful lot like mine began reading them aloud. “I’m Dr. Popper. Welcome to Pet People, the program for people who are passionate about their pets.”
I gradually came to realize that I was the person who was speaking. I also realized that this was turning out to be just as easy as it had been during the audition.
“Bringing home a pet for the first time is an exciting event,” I continued, suddenly feeling confident and calm. “But it’s also important to make sure you provide a safe environment for your new dog or cat.”
I suddenly remembered that I’d brought along a couple of dogs of my own. However, Max was halfway across the studio, chewing on a thick black cable that fortunately didn’t appear to be attached to anything. Lou was next to me, his backside facing the camera as he stood on his back paws so he could stick his nose into the display of stuffed animals. I turned my head in time to see him remove the fish covered in orange fake fur, gently carrying it in his jaws.
“This is Lou,” I announced to the camera. “And he’s just demonstrated how easy it is for a pet to get into something that could be hazardous. In this case, it’s just a stuffed animal, which isn’t likely to cause any harm. However, since it’s not an approved dog toy and we don’t know what’s in it...”
I reached over and attempted to take the fish away from my Dalmatian. He, however, assumed I was initiating a game. He began to growl playfully, meanwhile twisting his head from side to side and pulling.
“Let go, Lou,” I commanded.
He refused to take
me seriously. “Grrrr!” he growled more ferociously, upping the excitement—at least, from his perspective. While I knew he was just kidding around, I realized that wrestling with an eighty-pound beast on the air—and losing—wasn’t doing much for my credibility.
“Let go!” I insisted in a voice that sounded much sharper than I’d intended.
Lou dropped the fish, all right. But he looked at me so woefully you’d think I just committed some horribly cruel act.
“Good dog.” I looked back at the camera and smiled.
“There are several things an animal owner can do to keep a new pet safe inside the home,” I continued, afraid to make eye contact with Patti. “First, it’s important for the members of your family to remain calm.”
At that moment, I noticed that Max had moved on to a different cable. This one, however, was plugged into the teleprompter—which, in turn, was plugged into an electric socket.
“My dog!” I cried, immediately realizing I was plugged into something electrical myself and that I couldn’t very well dash across the studio to rescue Max. Besides, I was supposed to be conducting a television show. “Uh, my other dog, Max, is also here in the studio today. Max, let me introduce you to the, uh, viewing public. Perhaps someone could, uh, get him away from that cable and bring him over?”
Mel, the man who’d wired me for sound, got my point. He scooped up my twenty-pound Westie and handed him to me, ducking down low to stay out of the camera’s range.
“Here he is!” I said, beaming as I plopped my little doggie down in front of me. “This is Max, a West Highland white terrier. Say hello, Max.”
My attempt at humor didn’t go over very well. At least no one in the studio responded. I decided I’d better forget the Jay Leno routine and stick to the script.
“As I was saying,” I continued, clutching Max tightly to keep him from chomping on any other potentially lethal pieces of studio equipment, “it’s important to stay calm around a new pet. Moving into an unfamiliar place can be a traumatic experience. And keep in mind that kittens and puppies will want to explore, so this is a good time to pack away any breakables you own. The same holds true for medications, household chemicals like insecticides and cleaning fluids, and antifreeze, which may leak out of your car and onto the driveway—”
Suddenly, Max began emitting the low, ominous-sounding growl he makes whenever he senses danger from a threatening source like a chipmunk or a UPS delivery person.
“R-r-r-r-r-r...” came the throaty growl, not quite loud enough to drown me out but distracting enough that I kept losing my train of thought. Frantically I scanned the studio, looking for the perpetrator. Knowing Max as well as I do, I quickly realized it was the big, mean-looking camera that he’d just identified as a potential enemy. Twenty pounds and the looks of a teddy bear, yet he was ready to take on the world.
“It’s okay, Max,” I said in a soothing voice. I had a feeling that if I suggested that the TV folks remove the menacing camera from the studio, the answer would be no. Peering into it, I ad-libbed, “Max is kind of new to show biz. I hope you’ll bear with him.”
I finally mustered up the courage to glance at Patti. She didn’t look at all inclined to bear with a neurotic Westie who was hell-bent on protecting me, not to mention himself, from menacing metallic monsters on tripods.
“R-R-R-R-R-R!” Max continued, his sturdy little body becoming more tense and his growl becoming louder as he realized he wasn’t being a sufficiently effective watchdog. And then he broke out into loud barking. “Ruff! Ruff-ruff-ruff!”
“Uh, maybe someone should take Max,” I suggested calmly. With a little chuckle, I added, “Not everyone is cut out to be in the spotlight.”
Mel stepped over to retrieve him. Yet as he carted off my fierce protector, Max still wouldn’t calm down. Even after the two of them left the studio, I could hear him barking indignantly from behind closed doors, no doubt furious that he hadn’t had the chance to do battle with an antagonistic piece of electronic equipment twenty times his size.
Still, with Max out of the way and Lou plopped down at my side, out of the camera’s range, I was free to discuss poisonous houseplants, the dangers of twist ties, plastic bags, paper clips, safety pins, rubber bands, and buttons, and foods like chocolate, coffee, onions, raisins, salt, garlic, avocados, macadamia nuts, bread dough, cigarette butts, and alcohol, all of which were capable of poisoning a dog or cat. Every now and then I emphasized what I was saying by holding up one of the items I mentioned, as if wanting to make sure everybody knew exactly what a Hershey bar and a can of Raid looked like. Wondering if I was laying on too much doom and gloom, I glanced at Patti. From the way she was beaming, I could tell I was doing just fine.
When she gave me a sign that it was time to wind down, I began to wrap up my presentation.
“Here at Pet People,” I said, “we know how much you love your pet. So take a little time to keep your dog or cat safe!”
Just as I was beginning to wonder what would happen next, I noticed that one of the red buttons on the phone was glowing. I pounced on it gratefully.
“Ah. We have a call,” I announced, pressing the button. “Thank you for calling Pet People,” I said brightly. “How can I help you and your pet?”
“Hi...Dr. Popper?”
“You’re on the air,” I said brightly. “Who am I speaking with?”
“Uh, this is Fran from North Islip. I have a tip that might be helpful to some listeners. I noticed my kitten kept sticking her paw in the electric outlets around the house, so I got some of those plastic disks with prongs they sell to keep toddlers safe from electricity.”
“An excellent idea!” I said, pleased that the show actually seemed to be accomplishing something. “You can also use duct tape to cover outlets. And be careful with electrical cords. If your puppy chews them, he might get electrical burns.” I couldn’t resist adding, “Which is why I was so concerned about Max before, when he began chewing on the electrical cables.”
I’m actually having fun, I marveled. The red light went on again, indicating that I had a second caller.
“Thank you for calling Pet People!” I exclaimed.
“Dr. Popper, I got a question for ya,” a gruff male voice said.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I replied. “Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Richie from Riverton.”
Cute, I thought. “What can I help you with?”
“Yeah, see, I got a coupla American bulldogs. I take ’em to the vet whenever they got, like, some kinda problem. But my vet, he’s tellin’ me I should bring ’em in every six months or so, even if there’s nothin’ wrong. What is this, a way for you guys to make money?”
“An excellent question, Richie!” I replied. I hope the smile I plastered on my face didn’t look as strained as it felt. “I’m glad you brought it up. It’s important that pet owners bring their cats and dogs in for regular examinations at least once a year—and I have to agree with your veterinarian that every six months is even better. Trained medical professionals often catch the early signs of something that could get serious if it isn’t treated in a timely manner. Tumors are a good example. But if your pet is gaining weight or has an infection, or even if there’s something as routine as tartar building up on his teeth, your vet can help you deal with it. In fact, by taking care of problems at the beginning stages, your pet will probably suffer less—and you’ll actually end up saving money.”
“Yeah,” my caller grumbled, clearly not convinced. “Whatever.”
After Richie from Riverton hung up, the phone just sat there. Even though I’d been amazed at how smoothly things had gone so far, I was beginning to panic. I could see Patti in the shadows, making those “move it along” motions again.
I looked straight into the camera. “One thing that’s important to remember,” I said slowly, without having the slightest idea of how I was going to finish that sentence, “is that, uh...” What seemed like an hour passed, even thou
gh it couldn’t have been more than a second or two. “...Nobody knows your pet as well as you do. So whenever you speak with your vet, be sure to report even minor changes in your pet’s behavior or appearance that you’ve noticed. Something you think isn’t at all meaningful could turn out to be— Great! Another call!” I pressed the red button. “Thanks for calling Pet People,” I said. “How can I help you and your pet?”
“Dr. Popper?”
“You’re on the air!” I said cheerfully. “Who am I speaking with today?”
“Is this Dr. Popper?”
“I’m Dr. Popper, and you’re on Pet People. Who’s this?”
“This is Cheryl. I’m from Metchogue.”
“Go ahead, Cheryl.” Please go ahead Cheryl, I thought. Patti was making a round-and-round motion with her hand, as in “Speed it up, already.”
“I have a question. It’s about...kind of a game I like to play with my German shepherd.”
“Certainly a fun-loving breed,” I said encouragingly.
“I, uh, cover my feet—well, my toes, actually—in peanut butter, and then I lie in bed while Oscar licks it off.”
I didn’t respond. I was too busy trying to keep my jaw from getting carpet burn.
“I know it sounds weird,” Cheryl continued. “But the thing is, it feels really good.” The caller hesitated. “I guess my question is, do you think it’s bad for Oscar?”
I cast a desperate look at Patti. She looked like she’d just been worked over with a stun gun.
“Peanut butter isn’t particularly bad for dogs,” I said calmly, “although eating too much could—”
“Oh, good,” Cheryl replied. “Not about the peanut butter so much. I mean, I’m thinking more like—you know, that maybe what Oscar and I are doing is kind of—kinky. Because actually, I was thinking of expanding our game. I thought it might feel good to put some peanut butter—”
“I have another call!” I exclaimed, noting that Patti was frantically making a throat-slashing gesture with her finger. “Thanks for calling, Cheryl! And good luck to Oscar!”
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