Being Bruiser Woods, Part I
It all started when our thirty-something eldest daughter, Caitlin, tested positive for Covid the night before our family was supposed to go see Hamilton. She wasn’t feeling terrible, but she certainly could not go to the play. After Jeff and I recovered from our extreme disappointment, since our family had thrilled to Hamilton viewings over a dozen times on TV, we started looking for someone who could use these tickets that we’d had for her and her husband for a year.
An intern for our vibrant local theater group, the Davidson Community Players, took one of the tickets. Jeff and I have attended many of their productions over the years.
“It’s so fantastic to go to plays again! Are you in any of the plays this summer?” I asked the intern, Breanna, a student at Davidson, at intermission.
“Yes, I’m in Legally Blonde: The Musical.”
“Oh, that should be fun!” Our daughters Caitlin and Kelsey had been in middle school in 2001 when the movie came out and loved this loopy tongue-in-cheek send-up of Ivy League prestige.
“Oh yeah. We’re still looking for a Bruiser, though.”
“Wow,” I said, feeling a sudden frisson. “That’s funny. We have a chihuahua that looks exactly like Bruiser Woods.” I pulled out my phone, and showed her a picture of our fawn-colored chihuahua, Joni. When we’d adopted her six months ago, she’d charmed us. She had an outgoing and sweet personality; in spite of the fact she’d been rescued from a house teeming with thirty chihuahuas breeding and vying for food. We were told she was about four, and had almost certainly had at least one litter. One of the people at the adoption agency had assured us, “She really knows how to work a room.”
“I’ll text you,” Breanna said just as the theater went dark for Act Two.
After discussing the marvels of Hamilton, at dinner, we joked with our younger daughter, Kelsey, and her husband, Seph, about Joni auditioning for the role of Bruiser.
“Make sure you say she’s a Gemini vegetarian.” Kelsey had memorized most of the dialogue from the movie.
Our family, huge fans of theater, has negligible theatrical talent. I grew up on the Wake Forest campus and occasionally, when the theater department needed children as extras, I would participate with my friends. In Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood, my friends and I played a game of cards onstage, as I recall, and the director yelled at us because we were making too much noise. We forgot we were in a play. A teacher in middle school, hoping to coax me out of my shell, convinced me to audition for Inherit the Wind. She must have been horrified by my paralyzing stage fright.
Caitlin volunteered for Guys and Dolls while in high school and her organizational skills won her the role of stage manager. Her only foray on stage was to move a plant. Her cousin, Michele, who had come down to visit, in solidarity, to see the play, leapt to her feet and yelled, “Yay, Caitlin! Way to move the plant!”
But Joni had a chance. We thought Joni would make a good Bruiser, even beyond her physical resemblance. She is a social little dog who equally loves people, other dogs, and even cats. When we walk Joni, she feels she must greet literally everyone we encounter. Everyone who visits us ends up with Joni in their arms or lap. We thought she would have fun being in a play, which is not something we’d say about any of our other pets. (And, as Jeff is a retired veterinarian, we’ve had quite a lot of them). So, when Breanna texted me and asked for more photos of Joni, I sent about six. In one, she was wearing a little bonnet Kelsey had given her as a gag gift. We’d never before had a dog who would even wear a hat. We all just instinctively felt that Joni would like it. A few days later, Breanna texted me about coming to auditions. I said we’d be there.
“I don’t know, Cupcake. I’m not sure I want other people handling our little angel muffin,” Jeff told me as we walked Joni around the little park by our house, where Joni meanders slowly along, sniffing everything, and sometimes stopping to let us pick her up and carry her. “I don’t want anything to happen to our little Jonalita. Our little ball of preciousness.”
“What do you think, Joni? Do you want to try out for the play?” Joni looked up at me sweetly, and wagged her tail, sticking out her tongue, as is her habit. “Come on,” I said to Jeff. “It’ll be fun. Let’s just see what happens at the audition.”
On audition day, we gave Joni a bath, a “day of beauty,” as my friend Mimi calls it, so she’d be clean and sweet-smelling.
“I just don’t think stage fright will be an issue for Joni, do you?” I asked Jeff on our way over. The auditions were at seven at night in the alley outside the Davidson Community Players’ rehearsal space. When we arrived, several people, all holding adorable little dogs, lined the alley. There were two pugs, two chihuahuas, and a little Norwich terrier. This must be the place! Joni, delighted to see so many people and dogs, ran down the alley to greet everyone, pulling us behind her.
Several darling, high-energy college students came out into the alley, one of whom had freckles and blond hair. She bent over to pet Joni, who jumped all over her like they were BFF’s who hadn’t seen each other in months. “You must be trying out for Bruiser!” said the student.
“Yes,” I said. “Are you playing Elle Woods?”
“Yes!” Joni, after bonding with Elle, was now trying to give every other person equal attention, running from one person to another. The other dogs were relaxing in their owners’ arms, much better behaved. The other chihuahuas were a bit smaller than Joni, which I thought would be an advantage in the play, since Elle Woods carries Bruiser around most of the time. Joni, who was very thin when we adopted her, has filled out, to the point where Kelsey now calls her a “cannoli.” Would she be too heavy for Elle to carry?
“Let’s get a video of each of the dogs,” the stage manager, Mary, said. “Just introduce your dog and tell us what tricks your dog knows.”
Tricks? Joni didn’t know any tricks. She didn’t even know any commands. She didn’t even know “sit.” I watched with a sinking heart as the owner of the pugs demonstrated their ability to do back flips. Why hadn’t this occurred to me before?
Oh, well, I thought. Even if she doesn’t get it, the audition has been fun for her and interesting for us.
Joni with her ears up.
When Joni’s turn came, I let Elle hold her. “This is Joni,” I said. “Her only trick is sticking out her tongue, which as you can see, she’s doing now.” The cast members thought the tongue trick was adorable.
“So, does she bark?” Mary asked.
“Almost never,” I said. I figured that would be a good thing, since I was sure they didn’t want Bruiser backstage yapping throughout the production. Plus, it was true. Joni had probably barked six times in the entire time we’d had her.
“Oh,” Mary said. “Bruiser has to bark twice in the play.”
“Oh. Hmm. I don’t know how we’d make that happen.” I was so non-plussed about this barking failure I completely forgot to use Kelsey’s line about Joni being a Gemini vegetarian.
“Okay, thanks,” Mary said. “We’ll be in touch.” Just like they say in the movies. And with that, the auditions were over.
“Time for rehearsal,” Mary said. All the darling college students went inside, and Joni, ecstatic about all her new friends, tried to follow them, pulling on the leash.
“Come on, Joni, let’s go home,” I said. We rode home with her head disconsolately on my shoulder.
The next two days I must have checked my email twenty times an hour. Since I’m a writer, I’m often waiting on pins and needles to hear from agents and editors, and that’s how this waiting felt. Jeff and I talked about Joni getting the part as if she were our child.
“I mean, things are so awful in the world right now,” I told Jeff as we sat out on our side porch, Joni on my lap. “With Covid, the war in Ukraine, all the shootings, and so many people suffering. It seems silly even to be thinking about something like this. But, in a way, it’s a welcome relief to be thinking about this.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Plus, I don’t really care if she gets it or not. It was just fun to audition.”
“Yes, you do,” Jeff said. “You’ll be crushed if she doesn’t get it.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Well, the barking thing.”
“Right. She doesn’t bark.”
“I mean, her only talent was sticking out her tongue.” I threaded my fingers across the silk of Joni’s ear. “All those other dogs knew tricks and commands! Plus, it does mean that we have to go over to the theater for eight nights in a row.”
“Right.”
“But Joni loves young people. We’re two old people. She must get tired of hanging around with two old people.”
“Joni isn’t tired of hanging around with us. She loves us.”
“Did you see the way she tried to race inside with them?”
After two seemingly endless days, I received an email from Mary, the stage manager.
“Thank you for bringing Joni to audition for Legally Blonde,” it began. Oh no, I thought. That’s how all my writing rejection letters start. I didn’t even want to open the email. With flagging spirits, I clicked. “We would like to offer the role of Bruiser Woods to Joni, and we will fill you in on more details, if she accepts.” And a smiley face.
Oh my gosh!
“She’s been offered the part!!” I raced downstairs to tell Jeff. Joni happened to be napping in her crate, which she does, out of choice, several times a day. She took the news with aplomb; that is, she continued to nap.
Jeff and I discussed it. Would she have fun? Were we turning into helicopter stage parents, hoping our pet would fulfill our own elusive dreams of success? Were we up for shlepping over to the theater for two weekends as well as rehearsals? It had taken months to house-train Joni. What if Joni peed on the stage?
And the biggest question: How could we accept the role for Joni, when she couldn’t possibly understand what she was getting into?
Yet, it was no more than an hour before I accepted on Joni’s behalf. It would be fun for all of us. Joni would meet energetic young people. Jeff and I would meet people. After three years of Covid, we’d go to the theater, and we’d laugh.
To be continued…