Wind gusting snowsprinkles while metal machines belch fumes down the asphalt track of Carlaw St.
I sniff the adjacent concrete until a buzz of human activity stops us beneath a marquee.
“Fifteen Dogs.”
My human companion tugs me gently inside.
A riot of movement and smells. Coats musty with street scents. Soaps and shampoos. Alcohol and coffee. Salty snacks. The humans themselves!
Through double doors into a cavernous room. They fill rows of chairs locked to the four sides of the room.
In the middle, a few boulders. But not real boulders. On not real grass.
An oddly small fire hydrant. Who has been here must know go sniff leave my mark now why not now?!?
Must instead sit and watch?
I know stretch go sniff see nuzzle bark run jump play pee poo. And I know sleep dream . . . where I go sniff see nuzzle bark run jump play pee poo.
I do not know sit and watch. For 2 human hours and 40 human minutes. What is hours? What is minutes?
Something happens.
A bet between two gods. Whatwhere are gods?
But not real gods. Mirabella Sundar Singh in black cowhide with eyes covered walks and talks like playful god Hermes. Tyrone Savage with booming voice and laurel wreath grab it bite it pretends to be irritated god Apollo.
Not real gods.
Fifteen dogs at a veterinary clinic – where would I fit in such a diverse pack – are given human intelligence. The bet: would even one such dog die happy?
Different paths taken by the fifteen dogs.
Not fifteen real dogs. The two not-gods plus four more humans act like the fifteen dogs given human intelligence.
Not god Mirabella Sundar-Singh walks talks sniffs as many not dogs: Agatha old Labradoodle, Frick and Frack Labrador Retrievers, and Dougie Schnauzer.
Steven Jackman-Torkoff walks talks sniffs licks like Prince, a kinetic poetic mutt reveling in new word pictures and new possibilities. They draw my eyes ears nose why?
Tyrone Savage fierces as Atticus, Neapolitan Mastiff. Unsettled by the change seeking return to essential dogness but new mind old ways . . . how?
Laura Condlln walks talks sniffs as many not dogs: Max mutt, Bella Great Dane, Rosie German Shepherd bitch. But her not-human role Nira is most eye- ear- nose-catching to me.
Peter Fernandes walks talks sniffs schemes as Benjy, resourceful beagle – ruled by nose and belly like beagles I know. Uses new intelligence to secure food shelter safety by any means.
Tom Rooney walks talks sniffs senses as Majnoun, curious questing black Poodle seeking connection communication equality with his human. Funnypuzzledcuriouswondrous. Sad.
Downward dog – ha!
Bark sniff nuzzle. Grrrrrrrr
Dominating. Fighting. Pawing the earth. Ruff ruff ruff
Circle circle pat down plop down rest.
Dog mannerisms and movements and sounds. But human conceits.
Philosophical questions: the essence of humanity. The nature and pursuit – the possibility — of real happiness.
Family. Religion. Love. Art. Self. Community. What is their purpose and importance to happiness?
I do not know.
But I know High Park! The Beach! With my human companion, I have visited the Toronto neighbourhoods they discuss! I see smell hear feel their solidity in my mind’s paws!
The six humans move in and out, in and out. They are not-dogs . . . then not-humans interacting with the not-dogs . . . then not-gods interfering with the not-dogs . . . then outsiders describing what is happening in this not-world.
They move around, falling into and out of these voices and persons.
Complicated. Yet clear.
And beautiful.
How do they so effectively convey the feelings of these creatures that are and aren’t, and can’t . . . yet could be?
How did they prepare for this task?
How did human Mari Farsi conceive this experience of, of representing this narrative of André Alexis to run on this nightly track like some metal machine on Carlaw St?
Why are the humans around me sometimes laughing? Do they see their dogs reflected? Or themselves? Or both?
How am I so occupied by the discoverings, the encounterings and the endings of these humans playing dogs infused with human thoughts? What drips from my eye when Prince meets his end?!
What does it mean?
This is a sitting and watching not doing or sleeping experience. Yet when it is over, I have not been aware of the two human hours and the forty human minutes.
I flip over. Belly rub!
As we prepare to leave, I lunge at the tiny fire hydrant. Did you think I would forget?
No smell of other dogs: it is a non-hydrant:
In that cavernous room, this unexpected living story – non-story — was beautiful, artful and moving.
But I am a sixteenth dog. Ungifted – or uncursed — with human intelligence, I do not understand it.
So as we exit into the night, I pull at my leash. The wind fills my nose with snowsprinkles and information that I do understand.
I am content.
The run of Fifteen Dogs has been extended until February 12. Reserve tickets on crowstheatre.com.
@SesayArts Magazine, 2023