Leaving a trail of dog kibble

Years ago my sister taught an adult ballet class once a week at night and I would watch her three young children. We had a lot of fun; we read Calvin and Hobbs comics and played charades. We watched a lot of Disney sitcoms. But the one thing rule I had in my head to enforce was that they all brush their teeth. For whatever reason my sister's youngest, Colin, was not a fan of this rule. He stubbornly refused to enter the bathroom unless I carried him. I relented and to this day, I still remember carrying him, sort like how pharaohs or emperors were lifted while parading around to their subjects. I still see that wide smile on Colin's face similar to a king bestowing attention to the peasants.

This memory recently popped up in my mind because it happened again. Only this time it is with my dog, Milo. Milo too will refuse to walk to the grassy area designated as his bathroom. He will plopped down on the stairs, the driveway, the street and not move. He will either give me his best expression of sweet innocence or he will turn his head away from me like a teenager in a huff.

Tugging on his leash does nothing. Neither does kindly telling him to come or squatting down to his level and pretty much begging him to move. At that point, I give up and carry him. Milo will hold his head high as he surveys the world from a greater height.

After weeks of this, I decided enough is enough. A new direction was needed and it involved dog kibble. I first tried holding out a single piece of kibble for Milo to come toward. He scampered over to nibble it but I jerked it out of reach when he got close so I could move further up the street and do it all over again. I ditched this practice because it wasn't really effective and I decided it was mean to dangle a treat in front of Milo and then rob him of it.

Now I do what I call the Hansel and Gretel method. I lure Milo up the street with a trail of dog kibble. I walk out the length of his leash and carefully place a single kibble piece on the ground, Milo runs towards it, nimbly eats and then I repeat. It seems to be working; laying down a trail of goodies that ultimately leads to the grassy area for Milo to relieve himself. I try to sweeten the deal with constant praise every time Milo trots a little further up the road.

It is funny because for as much fuss as Milo shows for walking up the street; he has no problem walking back to the house. In fact, he leads the way. His short, little legs move in a quick march and his tail swings busily as he steers both of us back home.