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I also have Sydney, the pooch. It's taken about a year and a half for the two to bond; for Hillary to realize that sibling rivalry is not necessary between the two of them, and that I can care about both the dog and my daughter differently but equally, at the same time. No one loses; I don't play favorites. Except sometimes...
Yesterday, it came time in the dog's routine to go outside and pee; alas, it was raining. I told Hillary to let Sydney go, but to watch him and not make him stay out there, drenched, any longer than necessary. He is only 10 pounds, after all; just a little fellow.
She lets him out. Then, she follows him. In the rain. Because Hillary is deaf, we speak in Sign language. Hillary also has a tracheotomy tube, so she cannot vocalize or utter a sound. "Away! Away!" she flaps, her arms outstretched, and pumping up and down at the wrists. Syd, who by now has gotten the gist of things with Hillary, understands what this means without a single spoken word; he obediently pads down the stairs of the back stoop.
With a backward glower, it is clear that he is not happy to go out in the rain; nevertheless, he unwillingly lopes toward the middle of the grassy yard. Hillary's next move is to sign to him, "Toilet! Hurry!" Being a fellow of few words, himself, Sydney looks at her with a, "Who, me? What was that you said, again?"
Hil thinks about this, and figures it out. It all happens in a second. She will have to be more explicit; more direct. In her mind, it is Sydney who is at the disadvantage. After all, he has paws and not fingers; Sign language comes more slowly for him.
Thus, in an effort to help him understand, Hillary gracefully lifts her left leg into a full hoist, while she stands there at the top of the stoop. As if to pee. Sydney, wet and circling there on the grass, looks up at her in the rain, considering this.
Hillary has no time to lose. The rain is coming down faster, and she is getting wet, too. She moves closer to the dog, edging toward the lawn. She lifts her leg again higher, at least two feet off the ground, and shakes it so that Sydney will be sure to observe the posture he is supposed to take.
Still, however, no results.
This time, Hillary considers a change of plans. Perhaps a metaphor, she thinks: She puts her "hind" leg down, and from both knees, squats, girl-style. Figuring that perhaps Sydney isn't used to seeing her pee like a male dog, he might relate better to her peeing like a female dog. Interestingly, this move inspires him, and he begins to circle and sniff more seriously; the rain is ever-present.
Observing that she has made progress, but not quite enough--and particularly given the wetness of things-- Hillary stands upright again, lifts her left leg, then her right, and back to her left, holding each for a moment or two--high up and extended--bent at the knee. What do you know?! Sydney stops, stares, and processes what the message is all about. Looking at Hillary, as if looking at his instructor in a ballet studio, Sydney, too, lifts his leg, and makes the effort to pee. ... Success!
Hold it! Maintain that position! Ahhhhh. Both child and hound lower their legs in tandem, together: Smoothly, rapidly, finally. She smiles, in charge; he relaxes, obedient. Now, they may go inside; both pleased with themselves and each other.
The rain continued to fall and, quickly both hurried for dry comfort. Hillary gave a backward glance toward the grey sky and pouring down heavy drops of water. Her arms flew up, and once again her hands bent at the wrists, flapping up and down at the out of doors; the original motion she had made, instead of signing Away, marked, "Finished!"
