Lifestyle

Pup artist: Photographer takes care of his canine models

William Wegman — the Richard Avedon of animal portraiture, the Weegee of Weimaraners — wasn’t even sure he wanted a dog when his then-wife, Gayle, suggested they get one, decades ago. She thought a short-haired purebred like a Dalmatian would make a great pet.

William Wegman Studio

“What about Weimaraners?” a friend suggested. “They’re really good dogs.” As fate would have it, Wegman saw a newspaper ad the next day: “Weimaraners: $35.”

“So I flipped a coin and it came up tails five times in a row,” he says of that 1970 day in Los Angeles. The couple saw a litter of puppies and chose a male he named Man Ray, after the artist.

“I didn’t think I’d be photographing him, but I’d take him to my studio and he’d always get in the frame,” Wegman says. “He was magically still whenever I pointed the camera at him.”

Several decades and many photos, videos, calendars, “Sesame Street” appearances and Weimaraners later, Wegman lives in Chelsea with his publisher wife, Christine Burgin, their two children and four Weimaraners — Flo, Topper, Bobbin and Candy, ages 1 1/2 to 14.

Flo and Topper star in Wegman’s latest children’s book, “Flo and Wendell.” (Wendell being Topper’s pseudonym.) Carefree, costumed and occasionally airborne, they’re the latest in a long line of Wegman dogs, including Man Ray — the subject of Wegman’s new show of his early photos — and Man Ray’s cinnamon-colored successor, Fay Ray.

It was Fay whom Wegman literally put on a pedestal, in a flowing cape that made her look like an Egyptian queen.

“She looked at me and said, ‘This is what I want to do,’ so we [worked] a lot,” says Wegman, who famously photographed Fay on roller skates.

The secret to his work, he says, is respecting his dogs’ wishes: “My dog Chip was great with hats — you could put anything on his head — but his uncle, Chundo, would roll back his ears and look humiliated.”

And yes, he says, Weimaraners are good dogs — model dogs, as far as Wegman’s concerned — but no breed is perfect. “They keep you very busy and they want to sleep with you,” he says. “My wife and I have four dogs in bed with us: The girl dogs sleep on the pillows above our heads, and the boys sleep down below.” Considering the dogs weigh about 70 pounds each, it’s a good thing they share a king.

Though Wegman has an assistant — his studio is in a building next door to his home — the dogs’ care and feeding fall solely to him.

“I walk them myself,” he says. “No one else can walk them. When I travel, which is rare, my wife is almost in tears — she’s strong, but she doesn’t really understand them. It’s my job: She does the kids; I do the dogs.”

Perhaps you’ve seen him, juggling four leashes on his walks through Chelsea, pockets bulging with old D’Agostino bags for pickup purposes. Or maybe you’ve caught him pedaling down the West Side Highway bike path at night with his pack, lights winking from all four dog collars. (Don’t try this yourself, he says — biking with dogs can be dangerous.)

“Sometimes it’s like a gantlet,” he says. “You’re walking through with four large dogs and people dive out of the way … But New York’s a great city for dogs. I walk around and see so many people I talk to — some know me as an artist, others just as a dog owner. You stop and chat, your dogs sniff each other. It makes you human.”

Wegman’s photos from 1970 to 1975 are on display at the Craig F. Starr Gallery, 5 E. 73rd St., through Jan. 25.