A Puppy That Never Sleeps

If you live in one of Manhattan's ubiquitous high rise apartment buildings and you want to get to know your neighbors better housebreak a puppy. A ten week old will give you ample opportunity to see your neighbors at all hours and in various states of ensemble. The digestive process of a puppy requires potty breaks at minimum every two hours. Often more frequently. This means being prepared to take your puppy out at the break of dawn, throughout the day and deep into the night. If New York is the city that never sleeps, you've become one of the nighthawks.

My wife, taking a leaf from my college roommate's, " If you named the pet you owned it," decreed that it was my responsibility to housebreak Hamilton. To be fair there was also the practical consideration that my office was near our apartment while hers was uptown. Of course at night we were in the same bed, but I slept closer to the door. And one of the reasons we adopted Hamilton was to motivate me to get some exercise with daily walks.

The housebreaking started during the period when we had his crate in the living room so he would develop independence. According to the experts the crate would reinforce his sense of identity and would be his sanctuary. He would never soil it so it would help with housebreaking as well. The night from hell which my wife relives ad naseum put the lie to that latter aspect of the theory. The other aspect of the theory was to use positive reinforcement by rewarding your puppy with a treat each time he relieved himself outside. Eventually he would get the idea and you could substitute praise for the treats. One look in Hamilton's eyes as he looked at me with anticipation for doing the right thing showed me that would never happen.

Having the crate in the living room meant that he needed to whimper to let me know when he needed to go out. If i didn't respond immediately my wife kicked me in the back and I would stumble out of the bed and struggle into my clothes. Soon I would sleep with my pants on rather than sleepily pull them on and risk breaking my neck. At least we had the good fortune of adopting in the summer. Imagine standing outside at three in the morning in a January of snow, wind and sleet with your little puppy asking, no begging him, to be quick (his code words for get it done already).

Speed is of the essence. Once a puppy feels the urge to go the dam is opening fast. And you never know from what end. An apartment poses a particular challenge since getting outside requires maneuvering through your own hallway, the elevator, past the doorman always alert for accidents, through the revolving door and finally outside. I estimated that Hamilton's intestinal fortitude at ten weeks old allowed at most five minutes for this exercise. And that was five minutes with a lot more of the give than the take.

I decided that holding him until he was outside was the best approach to avoide any accidents in the elevator or the lobby in front of the disapproving doorman. But accidents do happen. So I began to hold him slightly away from my body facing me. I would coo at him to distract him, " How's my baby Hamilton. How's my baby boy" , and run through the lobby much to the amusement of the omnipresent doorman. By my count we only had four accidents over the first week and one of those I shouldn't count as the doorman was mercifully away from his post for once, probably going to the bathroom himself.

During his first week Hamilton barely made it outside the front door. At night this wasn't too much of a problem. During the day we had to find our place among the thousands of office workers, tourists and neighbors who always seem to stream by our apartment's door. Hamilton decided the grate in front of the building was the best place to go which made clean up easier. I wouldn't recommend trying to retrieve your keys, though, if they should ever fall through the bars.

By the second week his control was getting better and he was able to make it across the street to the plaza of the office building that blocks any significant sunlight from reaching the inside of the apartments in our building. Call it Hamilton's revenge for this affront to our quality of life as he took quickly to the side of the building that faced a relatively quieter side street. Perplexed maintenance people from the office building would occasionally watch our regular routine. And Hamilton was nothing if not regular. Trying to be a good neighbor I was meticulous in cleaning up, even using paper towels if necessary for residue.

The financial district of Manhattan has become highly residential. It is no longer uncommon to see Wall Street financiers racing to meetings in bespoken suits cheek-by-jowl with mothers pushing perambulators and walking dogs and leading children with lunch boxes and book bags to school. We have a school bus stop in front of our building as if we lived down a country lane in Iowa. Ultimately, the maintenance people took Hamilton's regular visits in stride, once even lending me a dust bin when I had forgotten his potty clean-up bags.

By the third week Hamilton was triumphing. He needed to go out less and once outside he developed the confidence to be fussy and take his time to find just the right spot. And Hamilton is fussy. He sniffs around, gives you a feigned leg lift as a tease and then he is off, nose down, looking for a better spot. " Be quick," could be heard through out the caverns of Wall Street. We would circle the office building aimlessly like abandoned satellites in space trying to signal home: B-E Q-U-I-C-K! B-E Q-U-I-C-K! B-E Q-U-I-C-K!

It was late at night that I realized that many of my neighbors were living lives quite different from ours. As I stood there sleepily mumbling " Be quick" taxis, limos and town cars were disgorging neighbors in front of our building, usually dressed to the nines. Couples came home nearer midnight. Single people nearer dawn. So many enjoying the glamour and thrills of the city that never sleeps, I would think.

Then I would say " Be quick" and Hamilton would. I'd give him his treat and he'd look at me with gratitude and pride. I was never happier.