First Stupid Pet Tricks on The David Letterman Show, June 26, 1980

On February 25, 1997, Merrill Markoe held a book reading/Q&A in Berkeley. One of the audience members, Katherine Ann Freeman, reported back a few days later:

"[Merrill] revealed the Holy Grail: the exact moment Stupid Pet Tricks was born. One night, years and years ago, she was hanging out with a bunch of Berkeley friends and they were all strapped for cash. Seeking cheap entertainment, they put socks on the friends' Doberman pinscher. The dog in socks became the evening's entertainment and the rest is history."

On the fourth day of the first week of The David Letterman Show in late June 1980, Stupid Pet Tricks made its television debut. From Jason Zinoman's Letterman: The Last Giant of Late Night, pp. 51-52:

[I]t was on this first week on air when [Markoe] made one of her greatest contributions to the history of television. In the final fifteen minutes, Letterman introduced a new segment not with enthusiasm, but something closer to his heart: Extravagant lying. “It’s going to be unbelievable,” he said, a tiny grin emerging. “The Smithsonian has already phoned and already said they want a copy of the tape for the time capsule. Have the folks stay home from work and keep the kids home from school. History is being made.”

… The network suggested she use trained animals, but she refused, launching one of television’s most enduring bits, with 130 segments over the course of three shows and thirty-four years. Sean the Dog, the original stupid pet, walked onto the set, turned around and closed a door with his nose. Then he answered a phone, knocking it off the receiver. Like a sportscaster analyzing a game-winning shot, Letterman showed it again in slow motion. “We paid for the instant replay,” he told the audience. “We may as well use it until you’re bored silly.”

Markoe and Letterman loved dogs, and owned two, and they found any excuse they could to put them in a comedy sketch, but what made this conceit work was that it bridged traditional entertainment with Letterman’s caustic sense of humor. It was the grand crowd-pleasing tradition of animal acts but from a new perspective, starting with its name: blunt, snarky and impertinent. “If they didn’t call it 'Stupid Pet Tricks,' it’s 'Pet Tricks,'” said Steve Martin . “I don’t know if I want to see Pet Tricks."

To Letterman, the word “stupid” also meant something delightfully bizarre. It became a kind of shorthand on the show. “Dave or Merrill would always say: ‘That’s so stupid,’ which was a compliment,” says Edd Hall, who worked on graphics.

Of course, every bored kid knows that being stupid has its pleasures. But the context of Stupid Pet Tricks mattered. “His idea was we have this multimillion dollar operation and we’re showing a dog closing a door,” said Gerard Mulligan, Markoe’s old friend who joined the writing staff and remained with Letterman for over two decades. He further explained the idea: “I am just wasting your time and mine, telling pointless anecdotes, just making stuff up here. And yet, you’re watching. Who’s the fool?”

[end book citation -- https://www.amazon.com/Letterman-Last...]

After the morning show had been cancelled and, over a year later, Late Night was being formulated, Merrill described her struggles with the network in her article "The Dawn of Late Night," published in the September 2016 issue of AARP Magazine:

[begin magazine citation]

When Late Night With David Letterman was in its cocoon stage, the NBC brass arranged a meeting with me to explain the data gathered from audience focus groups for the David Letterman Show, the short-lived morning show David did in 1980. “This chart shows a drastic drop-off when a music act comes on,” said the executive. “Notice how the televisions all turn off when a band performs? The good news is the focus groups liked Stupid Pet Tricks. But they all agreed they’d rather see it done with trained animals.”

“You mean like a horse that can count, or a circus elephant?” I said, incredulous.

“Exactly,” the executive answered, nodding.

So I reported back to the show and we decided to ignore everything he said.

[end magazine citation]

The first Stupid Pet Trick segment that aired on the morning show probably wouldn't be called a rousing success, as three of the four participants failed to live up to their billing. But it was a start.

The owners and their pets:
1. Shamus Sullivan with Sean
2. Elizabeth Boatwright with The Empress of Blandings
3. Sue Boatright with Crackbox Nelson
4. Sharon Santaniello with Wiener