He holds her collar tightly by the ring and commands her in a stern voice to not even think about peeing on the floor, even though he has put some newspapers down. Her eyes shift from the newspaper up to him and back down to where the newspaper lies invitingly on the floor.
“Please” beg her eyes, “please let me wee.”
“No!” he says “Sit!”
She sits obediently.
“Stay!”
Her eyes are still flickering between the newspaper and him as he stands watching her.
She starts whimpering, whining, yelping.
“No!”
She calms down for a minute or two and starts to whine again.
He puts the newspaper outside and orders: “Outside!”
Dutifully she waddles over, stands on the newspaper, shakes her head.
“I can’t!” says her body.
Gently he pushes down her rear.
Squatting down and shaking she eventually relieves herself.
He smiles: “Good girl! Did you wet your pretty toes?”
“No Sir!”
“Very good girl!” He holds out his hand. She takes it. He lifts her up for a hug and a kiss, wraps her in a warm blanket and carries her inside.