The Heidi Chronicles, Part 7: A role model is born

This is Heidi. Earlier this year, she was "discovered" in the park by a pet talent agency; since then, she has embarked on a one-dog quest to break into the business. This is her Hollywood story as chronicled by Times Staff Writer Diane Haithman. And this is her “head shot”: That longing look was achieved by placing a biscuit just out of reach.

One evening, while eagerly awaiting our first meeting with Hollywood animal trainer Sue DiSesso -- wife of the late and legendary trainer Moe DiSesso -- Heidi and I were in the mood for some TV, a favorite activity of hers ever since she gained sofa privileges, contingent upon an agreement that she stay on her blanket -- paws too.

We are particularly partial to procedural crime dramas, mostly because one is always on. I am convinced that a “CSI: Miami-New York-Wherever,” in first-run or rerun, can be found on some channel, somewhere, at all times.

One has to be careful when watching procedurals with Heidi, however. Even the smallest gasp from me -- in reaction to gunfire or the silliest dialogue ever written for the small screen -- and she’s out of a dead sleep and on her feet in seconds, ready to protect and serve. In Heidi’s wired little shepherd’s mind, we are always under siege.

On this particular evening, however, we happened to try a procedural with slightly different letters in its name, the CBS series “NCIS,” about a government agency that investigates crimes involving Navy and Marine Corps personnel.

Since Heidi began her showbiz quest, I have been noticing how often dogs show up on TV and in movies; there always seems to be a canine featured in a supporting role which Heidi could have played far, far better.

But in this particular episode, a dog was the star. Moreover, it was a German Shepherd, a beautiful big male with a sweet face and a lush teddy-bear coat, playing the role of Butch (at left). In the episode, titled “Dog Tags,” Butch is accused of murder; it is up to quirky forensic specialist Abby Sciuto (Pauley Perrette), who falls in love with Butch, to prove his innocence.

Let's all pretend we can't guess how this will turn out. This dog did not simply sit, roll over or catch a frisbee. He smiled; he put his chin on his paws and looked up with sad eyes; he barked on cue; he lay still as a stone during a surgery scene. Still wearing bandages after a gunshot would, he lept from a car and made a mad dash to dig up key evidence that would put the perp behind bars. Who was this magical dog, and who had coached him to do these things? One way or another, we would wrangle our way onto the set of "NCIS" to meet "Butch" and his trainer.

To catch up on the Heidi Chronicles, go to Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5  or 6.

Photo: CBS

The Heidi Chronicles, Part 6: An interview with Animal Actors 4 Hire

This is Heidi. Earlier this year, she was "discovered" in the park by a pet talent agency; since then, she has embarked on a one-dog quest to break into the business. This is her Hollywood story as chronicled by Times Staff Writer Diane Haithman. And this is her “head shot”: That longing look was achieved by placing a biscuit just out of reach.

Following the sage advice of Heidi’s former obedience trainer, I nixed animal talent agencies and began researching the world of Hollywood’s professional animal companies, hoping one of them could help Heidi get a paw in the door.

At the trainer’s suggestion, I called Gary Gero of the mega-animal company Birds & Animals Unlimited, with headquarters in Irvine and satellite offices in Florida, New York and the United Kingdom, a company whose long list of credits includes the Harry Potter movies, the 1996 film “101 Dalmatians” (also “102”) and “Eight Below.”

Not surprisingly, Gero was too busy to offer career advice to an unemployed shepherd.

I played phone tag with a couple of other prominent animal companies — and, even with my rip-off radar at level orange, I couldn’t resist submitting some of Heidi’s best photos to a modeling agency that represents pets.

Given Heidi’s German-Belgian heritage, I thought it appropriate to include this simulated alpine visit, actually shot in the Angeles National Forest. A return e-mail offered my snow-hound a three-year contract, but we didn’t read any further than the “admission fee.”

The Heidi Chronicles, Part 5: A working dog needs a job

This is Heidi. Earlier this year, she was "discovered" in the park by a pet talent agency; since then, she has embarked on a one-dog quest to break into the business. This is her Hollywood story as chronicled by Times Staff Writer Diane Haithman. And this is her “head shot”: That longing look was achieved by placing a biscuit just out of reach.

Besides being deterred by the $3,995 price tag for Levels I and II of the "acting program" offered by the animal talent agency -- we didn’t stick around long enough to find out what Level III would cost -- industry insiders were assuring me that animal talent agencies were not the best way to get Heidi's name above the title.

So, what was the best way? Heidi's former obedience trainer, Ron Hutchison, who has trained dogs for TV and movies, said that usually the director or producer will contact a trainer or animal company that can provide the right dog for the job. Many such dogs, he said, are rescues. For the TV series "Any Day Now," for example, Hutchison trained a dog that had been abandoned in a Dumpster.

But Hutchison, who concentrates more on private training than the entertainment industry, was frankly not so enthusiastic about a Hollywood career for Heidi. "The life of a studio dog is extremely stressful," he says. "Just like for actors, there's a lot of sit-around-and-wait time. It's not something I would wish on one of my own dogs."

While Hollywood offers a better life for dogs from the pound or the streets, he added, it's hardly the cushy life of the pampered house pet.

The Heidi Chronicles, Part 4: A cocktail party for dogs

This is Heidi. Earlier this year, she was "discovered" in the park by a pet talent agency; since then, she has embarked on a one-dog quest to break into the business. This is her Hollywood story as chronicled by Times Staff Writer Diane Haithman. And this is her “head shot”: That longing look was achieved by placing a biscuit just out of reach.

The fact that I was willing to even consider a $3,995 dog "acting" program at an animal talent agency attests to the seductive lure of Hollywood. Or maybe it only attests to the over-the-top insanity of L.A. dog parenting in 2008.

Despite her humble roots as a rescue, Heidi now laps it up as waitpersons offer her fresh water at bistros with outdoor seating, attends art gallery openings and occasionally shops Rodeo Drive -- where salespeople who dress better than I ever will coo over her and invite her inside, perhaps to shed fur on black designer duds.

Why all the attention? She never buys anything. My husband and I chafe at businesses that allow dogs, but only if you can carry them -- perhaps the reason the chihuahua is now L.A.’s most popular breed.  We can carry 70-pound Heidi; we just choose not to.

But on subject of the "acting" program, I was brought back to earth by Ron Hutchison, a San Fernando Valley professional dog trainer who taught Heidi basic obedience when she first arrived in Los Angeles. Hutchison laughed when I told him Heidi scored 4s out of possible 5s on her agency evaluation, and suggested bringing in a dog trained to do absolutely nothing, who would just lie there like a speed bump. He predicted Speed Bump Dog would also score 4-out-of-5s. He also told me what would become a refrain as our industry quest began: Pet talent agencies represent no path to stardom.

This did not stop us, however, from attending the agency’s monthly cocktail hour for dogs. I didn’t want to go, but Heidi talked me into it.

The Heidi Chronicles, Part 3: Our girl gets a 4 out of 5

This is Heidi. Earlier this year, she was "discovered" in the park by a pet talent agency; since then, she has embarked on a one-dog quest to break into the business. This is her Hollywood story as chronicled by Times Staff Writer Diane Haithman. And this is her “head shot”: That longing look was achieved by placing a biscuit just out of reach.

Since Heidi was approached on that fateful day in the park, I have learned a lot more about animal "talent agencies" than I knew then.

Suffice it to say that -- much as is true for children's talent agencies that encourage you to e-mail a photo or "call this toll-free number" to sign up in hopes that your kid will support you for life -- according to animal trainers working in the industry, the jury is still out, way out, on whether such agencies are the ticket to stardom for your pet.

At least for now, I will avoid using the name of the agency that approached Heidi because I have done no exhaustive research on such businesses and can only tell you how the "evaluation" process went down for us.

Those trainers say animal agencies are not to be confused with established showbiz animal companies, which, with few exceptions, train and own the animals they offer for hire. If the company doesn't own an animal with the look and/or skills required for the role, trainers who are part of this exclusive world tend to call another company to facilitate finding just the right dog, cat, bird or bear.

But Heidi and I didn’t know that on the drizzly Saturday in early March when we set off for our "evaluation," Heidi wearing a classic red bandanna because I thought it really made her look like a dog, me with a purse full of biscuits to persuade her to show off her few tricks: Sitting, laying down, shaking hands (for Heidi, more of a flailing high-five), and catching her ball.

With effort, Heidi was coaxed to stop hiding behind me with her head in my purse -- she’s a treat-seeking missile -- to strut her skill set and to successfully hit her "mark," in this case a wooden square topped with one of her favorite blueberry biscuits (yes, dogs need antioxidants too).

Afterward, a super-friendly agent informed us that we had scored 4 out of 5 in all categories! I didn’t know I was being rated too, for "dog interaction." I haven't had this much fun since the SATs.

Heidi was not the only overachiever drooling here -- what would it take to get us both up to perfect 5s?

Here's what it would take: They recommended that I enroll Heidi in a combo of Levels I and II of the three-level "acting" program. Cost: $3,995. Well, we couldn't have been more shocked if they'd told us it would be $4,000.

I tell the super-friendly agent that we'll have to, uh, think about it.

Want to catch up on Heidi's story? Read Chapter One and Chapter Two at L.A. Unleashed

Photo: Alan Feldstein

The Heidi Chronicles, Part 2: A rescue yields a feminist hero

This is Heidi. Earlier this year, she was “discovered” in the park by a pet talent agency; since then, she has embarked on a one-dog quest to break into the business. This is her Hollywood story as chronicled by Times staff writer Diane Haithman. And this is her “head shot”: photo attached. The longing look was achieved by placing a biscuit just out of reach.

Once Heidi had been “discovered,” it still took me awhile to make an appointment at the animal talent agency. I had to believe I was not setting the dog up for a life of heartbreak, crying into her water bowl about the role that got away. It was time to realistically assess Heidi’s potential.

Her tearjerker bio was definitely worthy of a Hollywood press release: Heidi was found in a storm drain in Houston, Texas, with her litter of puppies. She was less than a year old — and, by the look of the puppies, apparently knocked up by the first black Labrador who came along.

By the time this young, unwed mother was rescued, three of her six puppies had died and mom and the remaining pups were little more than fur, bones and fleas. The pups required blood transfusions. In June 2003, my husband and I traveled to Texas to adopt Heidi, who now has 250 frequent flier miles on Continental Airlines.

The Heidi chronicles: The first chapter in the saga of a future (maybe) pet star

This is Heidi. Earlier this year, she was “discovered” in the park by a pet talent agency; since then, she has embarked on a one-dog quest to break into the business. This is her Hollywood story, as chronicled by Times staff writer Diane Haithman. And this is her “head shot” (the longing look was achieved by placing a biscuit just out of reach).

In L.A, there’s a pervasive sense that everyone is waiting to be discovered — fueled by the remote possibility that a famous director will one day walk in and tap the guy behind the Kinko’s counter to portray, with moving realism, the guy behind a Kinko’s counter.

Being a skeptical journalist, I am far above this kind of thinking — unless it involves the dog.

One day in January, I took my German shepherd Heidi (though her light coloring and small build suggest she’s part Belgian Malinois shepherd, a close cousin), to a park in Studio City, where she was, as usual, ignoring other canines in favor of her red ball, which she monitors with obsessive-compulsive fervor because my husband and I have failed to provide Shepherd Girl with her own flock of sheep. Yet.

That’s when a woman from a pet talent agency approached us and suggested that Heidi come in for an “evaluation.”

She’s a natural; she’s been mistaken for the German shepherd in those display ads with Will Smith for “I Am Legend” and bears a striking resemblance to Rin Tin Tin. Plus, at this particular moment, the agent told me, their agency had no German shepherds among its clientele.

You hear about L.A. parents being approached by talent agencies about their kids, but ... a dog? Yet, as a smitten pet owner, it’s amazing how quickly the mind moves from “Say what?” to “She’ll roll over, but only if it’s integral to her character.”

Of course, Heidi could be a star. She’s cute and sweet and smart and she can run and play and catch a ball... Never mind that these qualities establish only that Heidi is, in fact, a dog.

My mind was already racing, stage-mom style: Should I lie about her age? She’s 6 years old, but she can play 4...she’s big, but she can play small... well, maybe after a few acting lessons. I could see it in her eager brown eyes: Heidi wants this even more than she wants the red ball.

I pocketed the woman’s card. Heidi’s people would definitely be in touch.

Photo: Alan Feldstein

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