ODD PROFESSION

Evening Star, Issue 20780, 30 April 1931, Page 7

ODD PROFESSION

STRAY PUP'S RISE Business has gone to the dogs I Exactly that! For me at least, writes Henry R. Cast, in' the ’ Christian Science Monitor.’ The fact is, the nature of my business is to supply trained dogs of all types to the moving picture companies in Hollywood, and it is a very interesting and profitable business. I started with one trained dog, Buddy. Now there are thirty trained dogs in my kennels. These thirty dogs are of every conceivable breed, and were gathered from all parts of the country for the places they are now filling on the screen, 1 did not voluntarily enter this line of work, it was practically forced on to me. So often a person feels secure and comfortable in the line of business he is pursuing, thinking his stream of activity will always run along in the same channel, when, to his amazement, ho finds ho has unconsciously drifted into a new course; and often the change leads into broader fields and wider opportunities—as it has for me. I was perfectly satisfied with my work as an assistant director, when Buddy was most unceremoniously thrust upon me in 1920. My wife, Gale Henry, was making a senes of twentyfour two-rcel comedies at the time, and I was assisting for her company. She used a trained dog in cadi of her stories. One day a dog gag came up and there was no trained dog available.

Someone mentioned that a stray pup had been asked to leave the studio four times earlier in the day. I was despatched to find the persistent pup and seo if he could trick him into doing the gag. After fifteen minutes’ search I found the pup, a mixture of fox terrier and bulldog, trying to crash the gate of a nearby studio. I hustled him back to the set and started his training course immediately. It was necessary for the pup to lie perfectly still on a large platter. The scene was laid in a delicatessen store, and the business was a “ dissolve ” from the dog on the platter to a pile of linked sausages. The pup would have to lie still for quite a few seconds while the camera turned; then the cameraman would make a fade-out, wind the film back a few feet so we would remove the dog and substitute the sausages. Then the scene would fade in

1 laid the little fellow on the platter and held his head down, saying all the while: “Hold it," in a firm but kind voice. 1 knew I must gain his confidence. Ho mustn't fear me, but like mo and want to please. I rewarded 1 him with a hit of raw hamburger every time he held his position for a few, moments; and he started to get the idea. Everyone present recognised him as an exceptionally smart puppy. During the next few minutes someone had named the new canine actor Buddy. I have never found out exactly who gave him his name. Eighteen people wore watching at the time, and eighteen people have since claimed authorship of Buddy’s name. Secretly I have aiv rays had the notion that 1 named him. Several members of the company offered to giro him a good home, but my wife insisted that he was to become a member of her own household. REAL TRAINING. Then Buddy’s training started in earnest. I taught him to sit up, speak, carry various articles, scratch, yawn, and stretch—all on cue. One of the most important stunts was to pad—grab a person at a point indicated—and hang on until ho received tho cue to drop it. Six months after Buddy’s first lesson ho was firmly established as a member of ray wife’s company. Then Buddy’s fame as a picture dog began to spread.

When my wife’s company closed another company asked mo if ] would work Buddy for them in a part with Shirley Mason. They offered mo 90 dollars a week for the use of the dog. Ninety dollars was not such a small salary for talent in those days, and I accepted. The part was difficult, but Buddy was camera-wise and took direction like an old trouper. His services wqre soon sought again by the same company—this’ time to work in their two-roel comedies. I pimped his salary to 125 dollars a week, and found the studio willing to pay this amount. Before Tong, Buddy was well established and in great demand by the producers. J was no longer an assistant director. I was Buddy’s personal manager, Engagements began to overlap each other. 1 could not take care of all the calls, so tho idea came to me that it would bo wise to start training another dog of Buddy’s type. Still, of what use would two dogs bo with only one of meP I followed the most natural lino of reasoning again, and decided to find a trainer who could teach ami work another dog for mo at tho studios.

Hero I met with m little difficulty. Tho only trainers 1 could find were men who had been using a forceful style in training police dogs. Their manner of training was entirely different from mine, and 1 did not like tho means some of them used in their courses. My method had been one of kindly persistence. J\ly dog Tovcd to work. The dogs trained by harsh methods seemed to work through fear of the The trainers with whom I had contact at that time looked to mo like men who would bo very stubborn about giving up their own methods.

Tlio whole solution was unfolded to me when a boy about sixteen years of ago asked me for work. He told mo his name was Ilud Wcatherwax,

Ho was not thinking of dogs when ho first sought work. Any kind of work round my place would suit him. He had done , small parts in pictures, but the studios were now a little overcrowded with boy actors. I' hired him to dig post holes, and noticed his reaction to Buddy. Ho showed plainly his

Idvo for dogs. And Buddy would climb all over him at tho slightest excuse. ,

I bought another dog similar to Buddy, and taught Hud how to train the new dog, which we named Beans. Kud proved to bo very adaptable to his now position, and ho and Beans wont through dog college together. You simply cannot beat the combination at a boy and a dog! Buddy was receiving 300 dollars a week by the time Beans was ready to face the camera. Buddy had just finished a good part with Colleen Moore in * Sally,’ and his fame was spreading. Bud started to train n new dog named Chummy. I had purchased Chummy from a well-known Sealyham kennel for 125 dollars. He was only seven weeks old when 1 bought him, and he looked to be as good a Senlyhatn as any of the other pups in the kennels.

Chunnnv was bought to fill the calls for a small aristocratic dog—the sportsman’s pet—the wealthy bachelor’s playmate. Imagine my embarrassment when, after all the patient training was completed, 1 found out that Chummy resembled everything else but a Sealyham, As our friend, Charlie Mack, would say, *' be was two dogs long and half a dog high.” Soon a call came in for an aristocratic dog. I took one '■ look at Chummy, and informed the studio that I was sorry, but I happened to be short of dogs with blue blood.

Next, Hank joined our happy family. He is a yellow cur dog, without even a pretence at owning a pedigree, and cost the munificent sum of 25 cents when purchased from a barefoot boy at Ocean Park. After his training was completed, Hank proved to bo a wonder. One of his first pictures was in a two-rcelcr with Will Rogers. When ‘ Almost Human ’ was being made, J had twentv trained dogs in my kennels, and four trainers were kept busy on studio calls. Whenever n trainer was not working at the studio he spent his time at the kennels training new dogs and putting the oldtimers through their paces. Many people retain tho old belief that cur dogs are smarter than thoroughbreds, and ask me if it is true. My answer to their question is “ positively, no.” Breed has nothing to do with intelligence. Among my dogs are curs and prize winners. I _ find that one is as adaptable to training as the other, as far as breed is concerned.