Gus is by far the easiest baby animal I have ever raised. He's calm, hasn't been very sickly, and is actually really good with guests. But he does have one weakness: he's had a hard time figuring out a way to communicate with BJ or I that he needs to go out. He knows he isn't supposed to relieve himself inside, so he usually just holds everything in until he has to trickle a little, and BJ and I stumble upon the drips and run him outside as fast as we can. Needless to say, this isn't a very effective method.
The real problem driving this whole issue is simply that Gus doesn't whine. Sienna is the world's biggest whiner. She whines when she thinks she might detect a trickle coming on, so we always know when we need to take her out. But Gus doesn't want to inconvenience us. Or rather, his intelligence hasn't caught up with his bladder.
Yesterday, though, for the first time ever, Gus let me know he had to go. Maybe he's actually the smart one and has been doing this for a while, but I just figured out yesterday what the I-have-to-pee signal is. This is how it goes: Gus runs up to me, turns in a circle, sits down very quickly, and then stares at me with unusual alertness. If I don't catch on soon enough, he repeats the turn-sit-stare process.
I wouldn't call this new method brilliant or even practical, but if this is what Gus has come up with, I have little choice but to take him out everytime he turn, sits, and stares alertly at me. Somehow, the inaneness of the whole process fits Gus, who is currently lying next to my desk chair panting loudly with his purple tongue hanging out, as always.
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