Last week, our family got a puppy. Not for Christmas – I’m too respectful of the Dogs Trust for that – but, in some ways, because of it. I work from home, and the December slowdown is the perfect time to do what puppies demand of you, which is to spend half your waking moments paying attention to their every twitch and snuffle, in case you miss some developmental milestone that condemns you to six more weeks of accidents on the floor.
In case you have never potty-trained a small dog, here is how it (roughly) works. After they snooze, eat or play, you watch them, hawklike, for any indication that they might be about to unburden themselves. Indicator eventually noted, you hustle them outside to a specially prepared area, where you eye them, not too obviously, in the hope that they will let nature take its course. While they are in the act, you repeat whatever mini-mantra you are hoping to associate with the deed – in our case, a cheery “let’s go!” – then once they are done, you give them a cuddle and shower them with praise. Then you repeat that, five or 12 times a day, until they get the hang of it.
