My husband started from square one—kennel training—and eventually taught her to use the doggie flap at the back of the garage. We now just open the mudroom door, and Daisy knows where to go and what to do; she is the proud owner of a fenced area where she is free to christen every blade of grass, if you know what I'm saying.
The problem is that when Daisy has to go, she sits quietly in front of the mudroom door. She doesn't whine. She doesn't scratch. She doesn't even wiggle. If noone in the family notices her sitting there, she'll go find someone . . . let me re-phrase that . . . she'll come find me or my husband. The kids are absolutely oblivious to the dog's subtle pleas, which consist mainly of a pair of baleful eyes staring silently up at you. She'll blow out your eardrums barking at a passing moose, but I guess she's too shy to announce that her bladder is full.
I have been known on occasion to hyper-focus, and should I be concentrating on something other than the dog, she will finally give up staring silently at me and go into the downstairs bathroom to relieve herself. And, again, I shall emphasize that she doesn't use the toilet, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING.
Christmas is the season of miracles, and one occurred in our household last month. In a moment of good cheer, I hung a strand of jingle bells on the knob of the mudroom door. Every time a family member went through, the bells would tinkle merrily. Well, turns out Daisy Doodle isn't as dumb as she pretends. That crazy beagle started lifting a paw and jingling those bells every time she needed to take a break. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. Maybe she sat a little too close to the door and accidentally hit the bells. NO! She consistently ambles to the door and deliberately rings those bells. POTTY TIME!
Looks like those Christmas bells will be hanging year-round.
Dinner last night: eggrolls