Five Stars, Would Chase Again

A Sunday story about Otter, two doors, one very well-reviewed squirrel, and why the environment we choose matters more than we think.

Every morning after his post-breakfast nap, Otter needs to go outside to use the bathroom.

Simple enough.

Except it isn't.

Because I have two doors. And the door I choose changes everything.

🚪 Door number one: the backyard

The backyard is Otter's off leash paradise. It's fenced, it's familiar, and it's absolutely alive.

Squirrels run the fence line like it's their personal highway. Rabbits pass through overnight and leave scent trails everywhere. There's a whole perimeter to patrol.

If I could see the backyard the way Otter sees it, I think it would look like a menu with ratings:

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ squirrels

⭐⭐⭐⭐ rabbit scent

⭐⭐⭐⭐ patrolling

⭐ potty

Do you see where potty landed on that list?

Now here's what the backyard asks of Otter. To have a calm, successful bathroom trip out there, he would need to notice a squirrel and choose to disengage from it. He would need to hear me call from the deck and leave the most exciting thing in his world to come back to me. He would need to keep his own arousal low while the environment keeps offering him five star entertainment.

Those are big skills. Advanced skills. Skills that takes lots of repetition in easier places first.

So what actually happens in the backyard? Stalking. Chasing. Selective hearing when I ask him to come back to the deck.

And here's the part I want to be really honest about. Otter isn't being difficult. He's making a completely rational choice. The squirrel is worth five stars to him in that moment. Coming back to me on the deck, empty handed, is worth about three.

Behavior isn't competing against behavior out there.

Value is competing against value.

🚪 Door number two: the front yard

The front yard is a different world. Otter is on a long line. I'm right there with him. I bring food and we play games.

Same dog. Same morning. Same bladder.

But the menu looks completely different:

⭐⭐⭐⭐ Jen

⭐⭐⭐⭐ games

⭐⭐⭐⭐ food

⭐⭐⭐ sniffing

⭐⭐ potty

In the front yard, I'm one of the most valuable things in the environment. The games are right there with me. And notice what happened to potty. It moved up the list, not because his bladder changed, but because nothing five star is drowning it out.

And what does the front yard ask of Otter? To stay connected to a person he's already connected to. To sniff, wander a little, and take care of business. To play games he already knows and loves.

The front yard asks for skills he already has.

So what happens out there? Calmness. Connection. Sniffing. A successful potty trip. A dog who checks in with me because checking in keeps paying off.

Every trip outside is practice

Here's the thing that stopped me in my tracks this week.

Both doors lead to a bathroom trip. My goal is identical in both places: I want Otter to feel calm and confident, take care of business, and stay connected to me.

But the two environments are running two completely different training sessions. Whether I planned a training session or not.

Every morning in the backyard, Otter gets flawless practice at stalking, chasing, and tuning me out. Not because he's naughty. Because that environment hands him five star reasons to rehearse exactly those things, and rehearsal is the most powerful force in learning. What gets repeated gets stronger. Every single repetition is a vote for what happens next time.

Every morning in the front yard, Otter gets flawless practice at connection, calm sniffing, and coming when I ask. Same force at work. Rehearsal. Just pointed at behaviors I love instead of behaviors I'd rather not grow.

The environment doesn't care which behaviors it strengthens. It strengthens whatever gets practiced in it.

The choice we're actually making

I used to think of the trip outside as the thing that happened before training. Now I see it differently.

The moment I choose a door, I've chosen a curriculum.

One door builds the exact behaviors I've been trying to reduce. The other door builds the exact behaviors I've been trying to grow. And Otter succeeds brilliantly in both environments. He just succeeds at whatever each environment makes valuable.

This doesn't mean the backyard is off limits forever. It means the backyard is a graduate level classroom, and right now we're building the prerequisite skills somewhere easier. When his ability to disengage from motion and come away from big excitement gets stronger, the backyard becomes an option again. Skills first. Then the harder environment.

For now, we use the front door.

Something to try this week

Think about one behavior your dog does that you'd love to see less of. Now think about where it happens.

What does that environment offer your dog? If you gave every option out there a star rating from your dog's point of view, what would be at the top of the list? And where does the behavior you're hoping for land?

Then ask the quieter question underneath it all: every time my dog goes into that environment, what are they getting really, really good at?

Because our dogs are always practicing something. The environment we bring them into decides what.

I'm still sitting with everything this realization is teaching me. But I know this much: Otter was never the problem in the backyard. The backyard was simply asking for skills he doesn't have yet, and offering five star reasons to practice everything else.

He's not being difficult.

He's telling me exactly what he needs.

And it’s my job to choose the environment that grows him in the right direction: calm, connected confidence.