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March 1, 2015

The performers in the playwright and director William Burke’s Comfort Dogs: Live From the Pink House are unusually brazen. They will sniff your hand, nuzzle your thigh, leap into your lap. Some of these actors are dogs. Some are people playing dogs. All are pretty cute. Short, sweet and still sort of nebulous, Mr. Burke’s play, part of the Damnable Scribbling series celebrating Brooklyn College playwrights at Jack in Clinton Hill, centers on therapy dogs and the people who find solace and succor in their wet-nosed company. Well, maybe it does. Honestly, it’s a little hard to tell. There are speeches and songs seemingly written from a dog’s-eye perspective: “Not afraid. The wheel. The welcome. The smell. Not afraid. Walk. The door. The door.” There are also letters, placed on seats throughout the small theater, that are begged for by the actors playing dogs and are apparently supposed to be written by people: “When the time is right. Please come back. Your head will always have a place on my lap.”

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