The Secret's in the Sod

There’s always a ramp up period with any new dog, right? 

With sweet, shy Elvis it was mastering the scary stairs and conquering Kilimanjaro. When Mom passed away in 2009 and I adopted her greyhound, Lucy, it was months before the little white hound got over her fear of the dreaded doggie door. 

And with Olivia, well she had a slight issue with trust. All now in the past, of course. These days, as we spoon on her pillow and I pepper her needle nose with kisses, I tell her, “Remember that time you snapped at me and almost shaved the peach fuzz off my cheek?” And we both laugh over the silly misunderstanding as she nuzzles her head deeper under my chin and nudges me for more kisses.

Now there’s Hazel. Funny, goofy, affectionate Hazel, an instant love bug who mastered the stairs and doggie door in record time. When I began the housebreaking process, I noticed that aside from that first night, she wasn't having accidents in the house, which was good. But she also wasn't going in the backyard, which was not so good. Instead, she was holding it and going only when we went on walks, which could sometimes be 12 hours apart. This dog had to learn to do her business in the backyard when I was at work. 

I called Golden State Greyhound Adoption for advice and was told to take her out and stand in the yard with her throughout the day in 10 minute cycles.  Morning, noon and night. Never give her the opportunity to pee in the house. Eventually she would go in the backyard. 

Sounds easy enough, right?

Except it wasn't. She simply wouldn't go. Would. Not. Go. There I was, every morning at 5:15 am, in my pajamas, half asleep and standing in my backyard waiting for Hazel to do her business,begging her to do her business, but nothing.She'd just look at me with her big doe eyes and then fall asleep on the welcome mat near the sliding glass door.  At that hour I wanted to join her.  A couple times she'd hunch over the rocks that border my fence, like she was about to do something, and I'd get so excited and hold my breath and think, "yes, yes!" But then she'd stop. Circle. Paw the ground quickly, like she was touching a hot iron, and then go back to the welcome mat and lay down. 

And so, I'd take her for a quick walk and then crate her while I was at the office. I hated doing this after she'd already lived the first four years of her life in a crate, but I had no choice: she had to learn to pee outside before I could give her free rein of my home.  

Finally, when no progress was made after two weeks, I called a trainer for advice. Janis said this was a common problem with dogs that had a preference for particular substrates, like grass or (GULP) carpet. "Try a couple rolls of sod," she suggested. "When she produces, lavish her with praise like she's just done the most brilliant thing in the history of dogdom."

Okay. So I bought some sod, which was pretty darn cheap thanks to California's drought because hey, no one's planting sod these days, right?  Laid it in the area where I wanted Hazel to go, just like the trainer said. 

Then watched. Waited.Prayed.

It was all of 10 minutes before Hazel came sniffing around with Olivia at her side. Helloooo, what was this?  And maybe another minute or two before the sod was baptized. My neighbors must have thought I'd gone nuts because allelujia!  I lavished praise upon my little girl as if she'd just done the most brilliant thing in the history of dogdom. 

And don'tcha know it? She had.