Trainer teaches animals how to act naturally

By Joan Whitely

Review-Journal

The menagerie at Karl Mitchell's Pahrump home is extensive.

There's a kangaroo, chindo dogs from Korea, a lion, tigers, two ligers -- born of a lion father and tiger mother -- horses and ponies, miscellaneous cats and other dogs. And a lot of nervous chickens.

When any of the big cats is about -- out of its cage, on a line held by Mitchell, who is an animal trainer -- the uncooped chickens know to scurry.

As Mustapha, a 2-year-old tiger, lolls on a grassy patch with Mitchell, a clutch of chickens peers intently at the striped predator through a stand of thick underbrush. Mitchell's 10-acre property is fenced, and marked with No Trespassing signs.

Mustapha keeps craning his neck, trying to get closer to the chickens. Mitchell soothes the cat, making the "foof, foof" sound he says is characteristic of tiger language.

It's good practice for Mustapha to be around the chickens, yet gently and persistently directed to ignore them.

"It's to override his pouncing instinct," Mitchell explains. It helps prepare the tiger to remain calm before a live audience.

After all, to the animal, there isn't much difference between a large crowd of chickens and an assembly of primary-school pupils, which Mitchell describes as "300 little chickens all sitting out there, cheep, cheep, cheeping, `Ooh, ah. Look at the tiger.' "

Mitchell, the menagerie and seven employees in two states make up his company, All Acting Animals, which provides both domesticated and exotic animals for use in film and theater projects.

"I could be a charity (nonprofit organization) tomorrow," begins Mitchell, sensitive to criticism from animal lovers that he uses his animals for commercial projects. He also is eager to point out he does wildlife education programs, too.

Some of his recent business deals include providing and handling a tortoise for an AT&T commercial shot at Valley of Fire State Park, an anteater for a CITGO commercial, a butterfly for a Summerlin ad campaign and a falcon for a Falcon Homes billboard.

Mitchell came to Las Vegas in 1982, after writers' and producers' strikes in Hollywood dried up his work opportunities. His first job here was to handle a lion for a cameo role in "Jubilee!"

When the curtains at the former MGM Grand opened to show a large MGM Studios logo, Mitchell's borrowed lion had to roar through an opening in the hanging logo.

Spectators never knew that the lion was "sitting in a large cage on a forklift," with Mitchell to his side, giving cues.

Nor did they realize those swift seconds in the limelight were the apex of a nine-hour work shift for Mitchell.

It took that long to transfer the animal to and from its owner's home, safely get it in and out of the hotel, do a three-hour warm-up and feeding before showtime, and then perform in two shows.

He next left Las Vegas to take overseas jobs involving animals -- in a Venezuelan circus and then in a Korean-made movie -- but returned in 1987, moving to Pahrump.

"It was affordable," Mitchell, 44, begins. Then he ticks off several more advantages. The neighborhood's tranquil rural character means his animals won't get spooked by urban sounds such as sirens and police helicopters. There are fewer idle curiosity-seekers than in the city. And there's a dry lake bed nearby, where he regularly runs his big cats off-leash.

"It's easy to see people from a distance" on a dry lake bed, is how Mitchell explains why the off-leash situation has caused no problems. The animals usually run for about 10 minutes, then want to just lounge near him, Mitchell says. Cars that arrive after he does tend to just circle awhile, and then drive off.

But his presence in Southern Nevada has created some controversy. A couple of years ago, Mitchell received negative television coverage, which he traces to the professional jealousy of "competitors and ex-wives who want to be competitors trying to do damage to a good name."

The 1996 TV coverage reported unclean animal conditions at Mitchell's Pahrump ranch.

"They really demonized me," says Mitchell.

The ranch conditions -- which included accumulation of trash and resulting flies -- led to citations by the U.S. Department of Agriculture but were swiftly corrected.

Mitchell says he was on the road at the time the citations were made. The employees who are custodians in his absence have since been retrained to be "as fastidious as I am," Mitchell says.

His attorney, Robert Glennen, has sent letters admonishing KLAS-TV, Channel 8, and Jonathan Kraft of Keepers of the Wild, a local sanctuary for exotic animals, not to make inaccurate statements about Mitchell. Mitchell also is engaged in litigation against his ex-wife Kari Bagnall.

In addition, Glennen has filed a breach of contract claim against boxer Mike Tyson, who severed a business relationship with Mitchell after the negative publicity.

Mitchell got his career start with a humble pet. Ray Berwick, a now deceased Hollywood animal trainer, wrote in his 1985 "How to Train Your Housecat" book: "Teaching your cat a really unusual behavior can be a ticket to animal-training success, as my friend Karl Mitchell proved with his remarkable cat.

"The first time I saw his cat, I was headed for the parking area on the upper lot at Universal Studios. A motorcycle roared by me up the hill with the rider hunched over against the wind. Between the handlebars in front of him was a small black cat. (Its) ears were flattened against his head and he leaned skillfully with the turns."

Not long after, Berwick hired Mitchell as a trainer at Universal Studios and, the trainer wrote in his book, "within two months Mitten (the pet cat) was a first-rate actor."

Mitchell's break at Universal Studios came in 1976. He started, Mitchell admits, as a "poop and scoop," but worked his way up until leaving in 1981. He still considers Berwick his mentor and model.

"The old-school method of aggression and force" is passŽ, Mitchell explains. Berwick helped refine Mitchell's intuitive sense that trainers should work within an animal's instincts and natural behavior whenever possible.

Reclining on the patch of shady grass with Mustapha, Mitchell demonstrates. He lets the 350-pound tiger follow through on an urge to roll Mitchell onto his back, then place a hefty paw across Mitchell's stomach.

"By allowing him to do this, it's allowing him to establish his dominance. ... I can't always be calling the shots. I let him call the little ones," which leads to cooperation on the critical points, Mitchell explains. Eventually, Mustapha rolls over, too, and Mitchell regains his sitting position.

"If I don't hit them with sticks, ... I don't antagonize them -- I can get them to do all this stuff," Mitchell says.

Handling animals that must interact with actors in front of bright lights and busy crews is an even higher challenge. The first key is to allow an animal to get accustomed to the environment before asking it to perform the required behavior.

"You just hold them," says Mitchell, referring to one commercial he helped make for AT&T, which required the presence of several lizards. "You let them get calm ... instead of pulling them out of a bag and boom," they have to immediately perform.

Then, the trainer must size up the personality of the actors or crew members who will come in close contact.

Mitchell provided the cat that serves as the pet of a character played by Talia Shire in the upcoming thriller, "Lurid Innocence," with Dennis Hopper.

"You see how her (Shire's) temperament is, and you can tell about the approach (for coaching the cat). You need to see whether you can put some cat food on her face," to induce the cat to lick at the right moment.

Once Mitchell had to tell a director to get a different makeup technician, because the original one was too fearful to get near one of his jungle cats.

Before a new handler can safely handle a cat alone, it takes at least two years of daily contact, for several hours at a time. "It's where and how to stand. How to approach. How to anticipate the (animal's) body language," says Mitchell, whose girlfriend, Susan Vidor, is currently training as his apprentice.

The animals, too, need the consistency that comes from regular handling by only a few trainers.

Right by the front door, sunning itself in a small cage in Mitchell's front yard, sits a young female tiger, Diva. That's not her permanent lodging, but a training cage.

"It's so she can be acquainted with the horse (in a nearby corral). There's people coming, people going." Exposure to visitors, while safe in a familiar cage, allows the tiger to develop self-confidence, Mitchell maintains.

He shows visitors around the rest of the property. One bedroom has been converted into a nursery for Grace, a 6-month-old tiger cub. To learn peaceful coexistence, Grace spends much of her time with a friendly mutt named Peanut.

The room has vinyl flooring covered with sawdust. A picture window has been set into the wall separating the bedroom from the living room, so Mitchell can easily check up on the pair.

Out back are the individual cages that serve as permanent housing for the big cats. The walls are 8 to 10 feet tall. Each cage is 20 by 40, Mitchell notes.

Cage floors are dirt, covered with straw. "It's a more natural way than if they have to be on concrete, as is the case with those sanctuaries," says Mitchell. Concrete is "for the convenience of the keeper, not the animal."