This is Supposed to Be Fun
Re-House Training My Dog Reminded Me to Not Take Life So Damn Seriously
Over the summer, my dog Gravy regressed on house training and began to have accidents inside. We’ve been working on re-instilling the habits he used to have mastered while also recognizing that he’s not as young as he used to be, so perhaps we need to flex around a new reality.
This combination - a big change in our daily routine plus realizing Gravy is aging - has hit me hard. Dan and I don’t have children, so he fills that space in our lives. We’ve had him for over seven years, and maybe I refer to myself as a dog mom. I might have a bumper magnet for my car. And a tee shirt. We’ll leave it at that.
I’m known for being a pretty chill person, but when we first got Gravy, I had absolutely zero chill. To be fair, neither did he. G was a rescue with all kinds of issues, and we were all in way over our heads. Dan had never owned a pet, aside from a goldfish named Chubbs, which he won at the MN State Fair in the 90s. Sadly, Chubbs passed away in transit between the fairgrounds and home.
Over the past seven years, Gravy, Dan, and I have become excellent roommates. Gravy is a source of joy, love, and shared purpose that’s strengthened our marriage - something Dan and I have leaned on when we’ve had difficult moments. And he is just so damn cute. Helpful, especially after he’s just peed at the front door literally seconds after I’ve spent fifteen minutes trying to get him to go in the designated spot outside.
For some reason, this house training situation is making me nuts. I feel so frustrated. I look at Gravy, the love of my life - don’t worry, Dan is fully aware - and just see a project I can’t complete. I’m constantly checking on him, asking if he needs to go out, taking him out, stressing him out, stressing me out. It’s ridiculous.
It all came to a head last week. At the end of the workday, I’d logged out of my computer and looped his harness around his little head—time for our afternoon walk. Minneapolis was experiencing the most beautiful early September weather; the air was crisp and cool, and the sun sparkled through the trees lining our street. Gravy happily trotted along the curb, sniffing leaves and a few twigs here and there. It was perfect. I took a deep breath and felt some of the tension in my shoulders drop away. I glanced down at G when he paused to investigate some grass at the edge of a neighbor’s driveway.
“This is supposed to be fun,” I thought. “Loving Gravy is fun. Why are you focusing so hard on the part that isn’t?”
As I’ve hit mid-life, that’s become my ultimate realization: this is supposed to be fun. Life. I want to enjoy my life. And if I’m the one who’s making it harder than it needs to be? Oh, hell no.
When Gravy and I got home, I thought about which parts of the house training really, really frustrated me. It was cleaning the rug at the front door. Dan and I had resisted buying puppy pads to line the rug because we thought that was “giving in” or would make Gravy think it was OK to use them. When he got home, Dan and I had another conversation and decided using puppy pads overnight would be worth it. And guess what? Not starting the day cleaning the rug made life a little less hard for all of us.
We’re still working on house training. I’ve made peace with the fact that Gravy will probably never be as fully trained as he once was. Hey, I can’t hold it the way I used to, either. That’s life. I can choose to be frustrated about what was, or I can root myself in reality and enjoy what we have. Honestly? Some days, I’ll probably be frustrated. But most days, I’m enjoying what we have.