There's no denying... he is pretty danged cute. On Sunday when we brought him home, he was all nervous and tentative. Now he thinks he owns the place. I'm trying to use my Cesar training on him and it's working... sort of. I can already tell we're going to have a long row to hoe with "potty training" as the girls call it. I would pay a big fat sum of money if someone would train the little guy to use the toilet. He doesn't even have to put the seat back down since the other male in our house still hasn't learned that particular trick.
The very short days at this time of the year in the UK are conspiring against my best efforts at housebreaking. It doesn't get light enough to go outside until after 7:00 am and it's full on pitch dark by 4:30 pm. The lack of light is a big deal for two reasons. The first reason is that the back yard, though quite large, has become booby trapped with little piles of Ollie poop. I don't mind sweeping up dead leaves that get tracked into the house, but I draw the line at mopping up dog doo-doo on a regular basis. The other reason I won't frequent the back yard at night is because our neighborhood foxes might decide Ollie would make a tasty evening meal. I've got a feeling the family would notice if I returned from an evening walk with just leash and no Ollie at the end of it.
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