Raising Stella – The Potty Problem

Michael Baugh, CPDT-KA, CDBC
I used to say “potty training is easy.” What I really should say now is “potty training is not complicated.” That’s the first lesson I’ve learned from Stella (I’m sure there will be many). Potty training is not easy. It takes a great deal of work and attention. However, the idea of it is pretty darn simple.

Stella only has two states of existence right now: 1) safely confined and 2) interacting with a person (supervised). The confinement part is pretty easy. Stella actually seems to enjoy her quiet time in the crate. Some dogs fight this tooth and nail (some literally breaking teeth and nails). But Stella is cool with it. Of course, we can’t keep her in there all the time. So, the rest of the time she’s interacting with people under close supervision. And that takes a lot of work. In the first three hours of this morning Stella and I have been out for two potty breaks (more on those below), some play time, a potty break for me (yup she came with me), coffee and breakfast in the kitchen together (she ate too), and then some writing up in the office. She’s lying on her bed next to me, her leash attached to my desk, while she chews on a bone. I have not had a single waking moment without her by my side. I’m not complaining. But it is work.

That’s half of potty training – setting Stella up to win, making sure she doesn’t have the chance to poop or pee in the house. And after one week I can happily report that it’s working. Yes, there was one incident mid week when we had a lot of rain and she didn’t want to get her “princess fur” wet. Instead she got my kitchen floor wet. But we won’t focus on the negative. Her success to failure ratio is still phenomenal.

The other half of potty training is showing her that outside is the place to do it. And I mean the place. It’s simple but not always easy. In theory all you have to do is reinforce the puppy for going in the right spot. I recommend cheering, praising and then giving three treats one after the other as soon as the deed is done (immediately, don’t wait until you bring the puppy inside). Simple right?

But easy? Well, I found out pretty early on that Stella is not too keen on food when she’s outside. Some days she just outright refuses it. So I quickly had to remember the science of behavior. The training is not about the “treat.” It’s about whether or not the behavior changes. Clearly if Stella refuses food, then giving her a treat for going potty is not reinforcement. I needed something that would increase her “peeing outside” behavior and it wasn’t going to be food. Play. That’s a good one. Stella likes romping around and playing. Petting. That works for Stella too. So right after she goes I praise her enthusiastically, run around in circles getting her to play and I scritch (that’s a technical term) her chest. I look like a fool. But while the neighbors laugh I have a clean house.

On one of those rainy nights I knew all Stella wanted was to get back inside to dry her “princess fur.” Begrudgingly, she popped a squat and did her thing. In that brief moment I thought of the biggest jackpot prize I could come up with to reinforce her good behavior. It sure as heck wasn’t going to be a piece of kibble. It had to be bigger, something she could really use. So, as soon as her deed was done I laid it on her. “Good girl Stella, let’s go inside!” I was her hero. Smart girl. Smarter daddy.

Juno – Dreaming of Heaven

Shortly after Juno died someone told me I’d dream of her. What this person actually said was that she would visit me in my dreams. I didn’t believe. Even now it’s still hard to take in. But last night, less than three weeks after her death, it happened.

The edges are fuzzy and the transitions are abrupt. I only remember the end, the most important part. That’s how I dream. Things don’t connect well or make any sense. Then suddenly there’s a sequence that does, one that makes perfect sense, a bit of wisdom that breaks clearly through to waking life.

I was in a house, an old mansion with dark heavy wood, the sturdy kind that lasts centuries. It was cool and grey outside, like fall in the Midwest, not unpleasant, but not particularly pleasant either. There were many buildings on the grounds, hidden passages and walkways. There were other people around. None talked to me. I was a stranger and I’d traveled there alone. I was looking for Juno.

When I first saw her I thought it was a trick of the eye. In the waking world I sometimes see her just on the edge of vision, a flash of gold, a flick of her feathered tail. I saw her run back up to the front door like that just moments after our vet carried her body away. That was the first time. Since then, I only catch her in glimpses, hints of who she used to be, stretched out where she used to sleep, trotting up the walk with her ears forward and her tail high. I know Tim sees her too. It only lasts a second. But in the dream it was different.

Juno was walking on a stone path, a covered walkway 10 feet up connecting two buildings. I ran to her and she turned and came to me. Her fur was different, lighter, curlier, but I knew it was Juno. I can prove it’s her, I thought, I will find the scars. I searched her leg and parted her fur looking for the gnarled lines from two surgeries. They were not the same, so light and thin now, hard to see, even harder to feel. She lay still while I petted her belly and cried for the joy of seeing her again. I guess that’s when I noticed. The scars were faded. But the lumps were missing altogether, no angry tightly stretched tumors. She was smooth and soft and sweet smelling. The cancer was gone.

People started to notice us. I never asked but they knew I wanted to take her. We gathered in a room where Juno lived, high stone walls and heavy wood beams, old-style sofas and a perfect roaring fire. Juno settled down in a corner, while a smaller dog snoozed on one of the sofas. I couldn’t imagine how many people lived there; so many kept coming in. They were here to listen to me make my case, to tell the story of my life with this dog, the dog they now called Vivian. When I awoke the name made such sense, the Latin root: “full of life.”

My mother has never spoken to me in a dream until this one. A man had brushed up against me and she took my arm and said “He just tried to pick your pocket.” “No,” I said, “I didn’t even bring my wallet.” And we laughed. All that relates to an inside joke that my mom never knew about in life. I guess she knows now and thinks it’s funny. I only mention it because those were the only words spoken in the dream.

I never got to speak. I never made my case to bring Juno home. I guess that’s because she was already there. The last time I saw her she was sleeping just around the corner from the smaller dog on the sofa. The fire was warm and strong. She was with good people who loved her, people who had named her well.

Dear Juno

I can’t believe it’s been a year.

Tim and I miss you deeply. Still, I’m so grateful when you visit my dreams, even the ones in which you just pass through for a short cameo appearance. Those are as precious as our memories of you.

So much has changed this past year, and so many of those changes have been inspired by your spirit. Once again, I’m helping people full-time with their dogs. All of them want what we had, a meaningful and abiding relationship, clear communication, love and affection. Every time I succeed, I thank you. You taught me so much.

I wake up every day to your picture on my dresser, and your paw print on my nightstand. Tim and I live with two dogs now who came from pretty bad situations. Stella reminds me a lot of you, serious at times, an old soul. You would like her, unless it turned out you were too much alike. Stewie is small, flighty and impetuous. He needs one of those scary “air bites” you reserved for your favorite puppies. I think you might like him anyway, mostly because he means so much to Tim.

Auntie Gay looks after them both, and Stosh. She also tends to your special place in the garden. There’s a pretty bouquet of fresh fall flowers there today. I know she misses you too.

I speak of you often, Juno. Though, today it will be difficult. Tears are still too near the surface. Tonight I’ll teach a week-one Good Manners class, just as you and I did so many times. Stella will play your part, admirably for a 16 month old puppy. She won’t have your flare; she won’t get the laughs you did, but she’ll do fine. I’ll teach the class, and take care not to call her by your name. I’ll teach the class, and take care not to tell a story that would make me cry. I’ll teach it the way we used to, and in my heart I will dedicate the class to you.

Love, Daddy Michael