Diaries of a Stage Dog Mom: Luke Bryan’s “Beer in My Hand”

Loyal to a fault, one very well-trained pup’s love remains long after the final cut

By the time the filming finally began at 4p.m. I could see that Chai, my five year old pup, was sleepy from the bevy of strangers surrounding him and ready for his pre-dinner snooze. Instead, baited by a pocketful of beef tenderloin dog training treats, he obediently followed me down the road where the first shot of the day was set and ready to go. We nestled under a small makeshift tent to avoid the sporadic summer rain showers, along with others from the production crew and record label. 

The only thing missing was Luke Bryan.

Chai despised the rain more than he wanted to be a country music video star and looked up at me pleadingly with his golden eyes—the very ones that were going to make him famous someday. Apologetically, I bent down to give him a little scratch, fed him another treat, and reminded him that sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the people we love. Also, unbeknownst to him, he was getting paid a $200 appearance fee; the entire scenario would be a story my husband and I could tell until the end of time, long after our beloved pup was gone. Just thinking about it, let alone recounting the tale one detail at a time, would bring us immense joy.

“Do you remember the time Chai played a starring role in that Luke Bryan music video?” I would say, knowing that of course—unless he was suffering from the early stages of dementia—my husband would recall perfectly. 

“Oh yes! What was that song? Something about beer? Or was it whiskey?” He would pretend to forget the title, then I could deliver the punchline.

“Beer in My Hand! Or shall we say, Beer in My Paw?” 

I would shout this line loudly so that everyone in the nursing home dining room could hear and laugh at the joke; then I would raise an imaginary glass to the sky and my husband would join. 

“To Chai,” we would say in unison. Everyone would clap and cheer, even the nurses as they wheeled us back to our cozy room for the nightly news.

By now, Chai was accustomed to being on camera, and this music video filming was not his first. Weeks earlier, he sat stoically on his favorite dog bed while an actress flowed through yoga poses in front of him. I whispered “stay” off-camera and conducted the matching hand gesture we’d both learned during his one month K-9 training course. We locked eyes, and there we remained, both trusting each other, until the director yelled “cut.”

Months before down dogging in front of the camera, he posed on a couch for a “work from home office scene” in which the actor tapped away at the computer and took notes on a legal pad for 30 minutes. I positioned myself behind the camera operator, my head sticking out over the top. Every minute or so I would give Chai the thumbs up and remind him he was a good boy. Between takes, I quickly joined him on the couch to reward him with a treat and some smooches.

“He’s so well behaved,” the production assistant said, smiling from ear to ear. Another crew member piped up: “Almost like he was made to be on camera!”

I couldn’t agree more.

After waiting for 20 minutes under the slowly collapsing tent, Luke pulled up, ready for the first scene. The director and his crew got into position and called me over to explain what Chai needed to do: sit in the passenger seat of the farmer’s truck, and patiently remain while Luke and the farmer engaged in a brief conversation. No barking, no pawing at the talent, and no other popular puppy shenanigans. Oddly enough, sitting in the passenger seat of our trucks was one of Chai’s happy places, so I had no doubt he would crush it. All I needed to do was position myself a few feet behind Luke’s right shoulder, in Chai’s sightline, and give him the “stay” hand gesture. I armed Luke with a few beef tenderloin treats just in case Chai became uninterested with the whole situation and decided to lay down for his long overdue evening nap—while simultaneously assuring the country singer of my dog’s excellent behavior, not to mention prior acting experience.

Four takes and 28 dog treats later, we wrapped scene one. The crew lauded Chai for his professionalism and willingness to take direction, and I felt a shot of pride ripping through my veins. As Chai and I walked back to our farm property—the main set for the remainder of the filming—his eyes blinked slowly, heavily, and the light rain continued to accumulate on his coat. As any good stage dog mom would do, I assured him after a quick nap, some filtered water, and a bite of real food, he would be ready for his next take. We had roughly two hours to “get it together.” After the sunset scene, Chai would be joining the old farmer and a beautiful young actress for the barn party scene, where they would all be seated near Luke for one of the final shots. 

Once we arrived home, he immediately crept into the main bedroom and planted himself between the collection of puff pillows on our bed. If dogs could articulate the concept of a safe space, this would surely be his. He peered out from behind the pillows, his lids finally collapsing closed, and I laid down beside and stroked his velvety ears. My husband joined us, as did Chai’s brother Chesney, and we all surrounded our star family member in an act of solidarity. His life of budding fame was a rough one, not meant for the faint of heart. Within a few short months, his swoon-worthy face would appear on screen in millions of households across the world. 

He was none the wiser, but deep down I knew what this all meant: the hours upon days upon months I’d spent training, cajoling, walking, running, rewarding, and ultimately bonding with this creature would alas be justified; everyone who doubted the sanity of my dedication could shove it, because I had created a star.

Around 8 p.m. the assistant director texted me to let me know it was time for the final scene. Reluctantly, Chai followed me to the barn, head down as he walked—likely wondering why he was doing anything other than sleeping at this hour. The dog treats did their job, and he obediently took a seat on the actress's lap, his on-camera spot for the remainder of the evening. Gratefully, she was a sweet southern girl who loved dogs; Chai soon cozied up to her and fell asleep in the chair while the producer, director, crew, and 30 extras swirled around the barn setting up for the scene. Take after take, Chai took direction perfectly and perked up when the camera was in his vicinity, Luke sitting on his left in a big leather arm chair. 

My husband and I hid behind the barn doors, peering through the cracks to watch the action. At the end of each take, I appeared to give Chai a few scratches and provide the actress with a fresh handful of treats for her newly found four-legged friend. 

“He’s such a sweet pup,” she said, her pretty face lighting up. She stroked his back, and he gazed at her lovingly, his chin resting on her crossed leg. His eyes fluttered, he groaned, and then in a split second he was asleep. It was almost 11 o’clock, and the bag of dog treats was nearly empty. Chai was most likely a combination of exhausted and sick to his stomach.

“This is it folks, one more round,” the director shouted from across the barn. “Let’s make it the best one yet!”

Chai’s ears perked up, but his eyes remained shut. The actress attempted to gently maneuver him back into a seated position, but he wouldn’t budge. I walked over to them and kneeled down beside the chair, putting my face close to Chai’s ear. “Hey buddy,” I whispered, “just a few more minutes, then you can go to bed. Let’s go.”

He partially opened his eyes and adjusted his body slightly, but was otherwise uncooperative. I scooped him up and carried him out to the yard, knowing if I could get him to walk around for a minute he would perk up just long enough to get what the director needed. After a quick jaunt to the greenhouse, I escorted him back to the barn and into the arms of the actress. 

“Beer in My Hand” blared over the speaker system as Luke glided through the barn, hitting his marks and getting the party goers riled up. The camera crew danced around him, capturing shot after shot as the director envisioned. Through the barn door cracks I could see Luke moving toward the leather chair, Chai’s final appearance impending. He could not see me, but I knew he could feel my energy. And right now my energy was shouting: “Sit up you little monster! Do you know how many dogs, let alone humans, would love to be in your puppy boots right now!”

The actress smiled brightly as the camera swooped in her direction. She playfully grabbed the farmer’s cowboy hat and placed it on her own head, attempting to interact with Chai. But he just laid there, unimpressed with her antics and unbothered by Luke’s presence beside him. Instead, he casually glanced around the barn, soaking in the scene, like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

In this moment, I knew he would forgive me for anything I’d ever made him do; and like a true star, he was really the one who had it all figured out.

***

To watch "But I Got a Beer in My Hand" music video and enjoy Chai's big moment, click here.

About the Author

Rebekah Iliff is the Editor-in-Chief of Palomino County. She is an accomplished business leader, award-winning humor writer and producer, and forever entrepreneur. Her writing has been featured in publications ranging from Fast Company and Forbes to Weekly Humorist and the Erma Bombeck Blog. Her first book and short film, Champagne for One: A Celebration of Solitude (2022), collected 14 short film awards and several major book recognitions including “humor book of the year” by Foreword Reviews; “top 10 personal development books” by Spy Magazine; and “best gift book” by Publisher’s Weekly. She and her husband own Free Dreaming Farm in Springfield, Tennessee, where they, along with their two pups, regularly host some of today’s leading country music artists for writer’s retreats, music video productions, and photo shoots.