Animals do the darndest things, as we know from those videos of stupid pet tricks that are magnets for our eyeballs.

It turns out that critters also are ideal vehicles to introduce preschoolers to modern dance. For many of the tykes who attended last weekend's premiere of Ann Carlson's bright, witty show "Animal Dance" at Children's Theatre, it's likely to be their first memory — and what a wonderful memory it will be.

Carlson, a veteran modern dancer and choreographer, moves onstage with a menagerie of cute creatures, including two perky goat kids, one forlorn chicken, a frolicsome bunny and a solicitous goldfish. She also dances with a tortoise named Tort.

Dressed in an egg-yolk-colored pantsuit and performing on green artificial turf against a blue-sky backdrop Carlson is like a ball of sunshine that shows up wherever light is needed. She dances in a corner, wiggling her shoulders and butt. She does a toe dance, an eye dance, a dance that makes Tort seem like an ancient Egyptian.

Her message is that we can find dance everywhere and in everything.

The show, which runs through May 1, is partly improvised to match the movements of the creatures that are Carlson's dance partners. And each performance is as different as the moods of the animals. On Sunday, the creatures were all totally at home in the show, despite the excited squeals of tykes sitting on mats and pillows up front.

How relaxed were the star creatures? Well, let's just say they seemed to be natural onstage. The Thespi-Hen, for example, whose entrance was a dramatic fly-in, came right up to center stage and mooned the audience. Not to be outdone, one of the two hoppy goat kids (named Earl Grey and Rooibos) unburdened its bladder.

About that stage: it's a little fenced-in enclosure designed by Torry Bend. Izzie, one of five dogs to alternate roles in the show, loved the turf. She laid down on her back and wiggled on it on Sunday. Carlson joined her, feet in the air. In fact, the human took cues from the animals throughout the performance, hopping or making swim-like movements. The animals, in turn, sometimes seemed to copy her.

The onstage menagerie has some training, although not explicitly in theater or dance. While the animals appear relaxed under the spotlights, there is an unpredictability that Carlson anticipates. Early on, she sings a chipper poop song to get us ready. And each creature has its own little soundtrack, as they teach Carlson — and us — how to be fully in the moment, and ready for anything.

rpreston@startribune.com

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