If you didn’t already know, I’ve acquired another dog. Silky. She’s a puppy. We’re potty training.
This is a first for me. The other dogs came full-grown, well mannered and with clear methods of informing me that they need to be let out, for whatever reason. Silky is not so readable. That’s where we’re at presently: Me learning her language ... the signs.
My house is small. From where I sit at my computer, I can look to my right, through a doorway, and see, not the door itself, but the area immediately in front of the entrance to the bathroom, the Foyer de Jon, if you will.
It’s to this foyer that Silky comes, not before, but immediately after she relieves herself (On potty pads, fortunately. She does understand how they work). Silky doesn’t go into the bathroom; she only looks inside, and then to me, back at the bathroom, and then trots off to resume whatever chewing she was involved in prior to said call of nature.
There’s some logic here. Some pattern to which I am missing the all-important piece ... that cue prior to the squatting that is the simple difference between Silky doing her business in my living room or outside in the backyard. One hundred and fifty potty pads and counting. Believe you me, I’m watching her every flutter and flinch. We’ll get this figured out, she and I. Soon.
