Saturday, August 01, 2009

Only in LA.

A casting agent approached us about our dog. Yeah, my puppy could have representation.

Why not? He's cute yet becoming distinguished with age, and probably quite talented... kinda like the Leonardo diCaprio of canines. Probably he could do a few commercials, make a few guest appearances on today's equivalent of "Growing Pains" (what would that be? "2 & 1/2 Men"? I've never seen it. Ditto "Tyler Perry's House of Pain".), and then boom! Titanic money, baby. Let the little mutt earn his keep around here.

But then, reality sinks in. We were at a dog fair. There were booths selling all-natural treats, designer collars and biodegradable poop bags.

I know, whatta way to spend an afternoon. I went because we were told that the woman who owns two of Bernie's siblings was gonna be there, so it'd be a mini-mongrel family revolution. But, bad timing, we never saw her.

Anyway, the point is, this was a gathering of pet owners. People with disposable income to blow on their pooches. Why not bilk 'em for more, with Hollywood caviar dreams about owning the next Marley & Me star? And, by the way, this casting company supposedly worked on that film, as well as Hotel for Dogs. I'm sure that's what all the animal casting agents say. Nobody wants to take credit for Zoltan, Hound of Dracula.

I think it was a scam to get Bernie into some very expensive training classes that he'd need, while dangling the milkbone of Benji-type superstardom in front of his snout. Pardon my cynicism. But I'm probably better off not pimping out my pooch. That's all I need -- to let him become more of a doggie diva than he already is.


Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by