Toilet Training

        The second time he went out, Gizmo ran over the small bridge to the back section of our property, where a path was cleared only a week ago and which apparently confused his carefully, calibrated house breaking schedule.  He quickly urinated, delicately lifting one hind paw to avoid splattering himself, for which we thank his mother or training. 

           Then, surprise, instead of dashing out to the exit door to await a long walk, he turned, turned again and again, and (praise be, hallelujah!) he released a large and, for me, very satisfying dump.  Gizmo pissed and shit where we wanted him to, where we were trying unsuccessfully to train him to for several weeks.

         I quickly petted him, said “good boy,” and gave him a treat, which he immediately spit out somewhere near the palm trees.  He wanted to get back in the house so he could be praised by Grace.

         A quick dash back to the house, a big  celebration, another treat, more “good dogs”.  A Big, Big Deal.  Did I act this way when I was housebreaking (i. e. toilet training) my two boys.  Probably, but of course, as I remember, they never furiously wagged their tails when praised for going to the bathroom.