It’s Official: TV Is Going to the Dogs : Show business: Pets--and their owners--seeking stardom answer call for screen tests for new program.

As dogs throughout the world know, you can teach an old owner new tricks. Many humans, duped by the canine conspiracy, still seem to think they’re in charge. But when was the last time your dog fixed dinner for you? Scratched behind your ears? Rubbed your tummy?

Or took you to a screen test?

The last point, at least, was underscored Saturday when dozens of owners brought their dogs to a North Hollywood hotel for screen tests. The winners will appear on a new TV show called “Prime Time Pets.”

“This is comic reality programming,” executive producer Ron Ziskin explained. The show, he said, “will examine the relationship between pets and owners.”

That relationship was on display at the audition, which produced a carnival of rolling over, woofing, scratching and dead-playing--only some of it done by dogs.

“All you have to do is say ‘audition’ in this town and people come,” John Zimmer said.

Zimmer chauffeured his pet, a 9-year-old Shih Tzu named Wally, to the audition. It was his first screen test. Wally enjoys chasing the beam of a flashlight. There’s no telling how much money Zimmer has spent on batteries.

“Isn’t he cool?” Zimmer said while Wally lay on a shady spot of concrete, avoiding the broiling sun. “You want civilized, that’s civilized.”

Many owners have been trained to throw tennis balls. If you own a dog, perhaps you have been trained to say “speak” or “roll over” or “beg.” But if you are begging your dog to beg, who is really in charge here?

“Woof, woof, woof.”

That was the sound of 20-year-old Margaret Fujii imploring Toby, her little Yorkshire terrier, to “speak” on camera.

Fujii got her reward.

“Arf,” Toby said.

Fujii discussed Toby’s other trick--how he lifts separate dollar bills from scraps of paper. Smart dog, gooood dog.

On this day, however, Toby wasn’t in the mood. Fujii apologized for him, saying there were too many people, too many dogs.

Luscious, a malamute, had his owner place food on his snout. Bumpkin, a cocker spaniel, had his owner launching soap bubbles. Bumpkin likes to make them pop.

The audition wasn’t limited to dogs and their owners. There was a rabbit who got food whenever he “begged,” and an assortment of cockatoos that somehow persuaded their owners to buy and build all sorts of neat swings and slides and even a trampoline.

Bunnies and birdies weren’t mixed with dogs. Joan Hanna figured that was a good thing. Otherwise, her 140-pound dog named Bear--actually half-canine, half-tundra wolf--might have performed his magic act. Once, Hanna took Bear to a friend’s farm. Bear bolted out the car window.

Just like that, five chickens disappeared. Didn’t even bother to pluck them.

“That must be the wolf in him,” Hanna said. “He’s really very gentle.”

On this day, Bear just hung out. Truth is, Hanna said, Bear doesn’t do tricks. He has been known to back into his dog house and run up a ramp into the family truck, howling at the sound of fire engine sirens.

You should see him, Hanna said.

“ Woooo Wooooo ! “

That was the sound Hanna made, trying to persuade Bear to howl like the half-wolf that he is. She looked expectantly, beseechingly, at her pet.

She feeds him four bowls of dry food and one can of meat every day.

The dog did not reward her.