The truth is, we had the cutest white-apricot tinged loudest, yippiest rescue malti-poo pooch this side of Paris. We could not believe we were stuck with her. We figured, well—she must go back---to be made into the dog of someone else, or sausage.
But Adam, My-husband-in-New-York, had a long talk with the rescue outfit that gave us this rejected designer pooch. So this is the deal (and we read so many books!)---every dog has his special kind of day and ours is dealing with profound separation anxiety. No surprise we ended up with THAT one.
So this is what the rescue guy said to do…in the pen where she is living with her great bedding and toys and water and all that---you have to cover it with a blanket. It has to be like the pen has nothing to do with the room that it’s in so the dog will feel like it has that tiny little world that is hers…that is safe…that has nothing to do with people or anything else. Total safety. It’s like Temple Grandin’s Cow Press!
Then, what you do is, you put the dog in, all covered like that, for five minutes. As soon as she stops the whining and barking and settles in, you time five minutes. You then give her a snack reward. Take her out for five minutes. Then do the same for ten and fifteen. Work your way up to twelve damn hours! Over a week or so.
This is fine.
And miracle of miracles…the yapping nightmare piped down. She has been sound asleep in there for a few hours, not a peep.
If only I had access to this information a little sooner—
I was making dinner tonight and she sat right on my foot. She was such a baby and so incredibly in need. I cried. But you knew that.