When I was in Copenhagen, it was easy to spot the dog (actually dogs) of the city: the most popular breeds were the West Highland Terrier and the Wire-Haired Dachshund. Hands down. You saw them everywhere. In New York City there are many popular breeds. Certainly the Shi-Tzu, and of course "tea-cup" dogs are extremely fashionable as accessories for men and women alike. But I would have to say, the dog of choice for the New Yorker is the French Bulldog. Yup. They are cute little buggers too. They come in various shades of brindle and tan, they have pointy ears and perky little figures, and they, like their human counterparts, seem fiercely determined, yet slyly humourous.

I think there are as many dogs in Manhattan as people. Because if you don't have a dog, believe me, there is someone next to you on the street that has two, or three... And I have seen every variety: right here in my 'hood there is a St. Bernard, an enormous old brindle Bull Mastiff, a German Shepherd, several Golden Retrievers, a very thin, hearty couple, who walk a very thin elderly hound, Bernese Mountain Dogs (desperately seeking mountains), Portuguese Water Dogs (aching for the Hudson), and so on, etc, etc. The list is endless. The folks here like their dogs.

It's been a good week. The show seems to be settling for me. I am surviving the pace now. My voice is recovering from the initial shock of singing, dancing, and SMOKING! And I am getting used to the daily aches and pains, and finding time for naps and physio. My sweet darling thirteen-year-old boyfriend, Alex Ko, hurt himself in warm-up last week, and is out of the show until he recovers. Ugh. It is completely sick-making. Poor little lamb. So, I am developing my relationships with the other Billys: Tommy Bachelor, David Alvarez, and Trent Kowalik. All sensational. All exceptional. But this little play we are doing does take it's toll.