Moving day is one – yes, one – day away. As I prepare to leave the house and community that has been my home for over 15 years, I’m periodically overwhelmed by sadness and anxiety. Then I think of our new home, an 1850s farmhouse in the South Salem woods, and I swing in the other direction. We’ve christened it “Sun Meadow Farm,” and it will have room for our kids and our growing menagerie and will house a spacious dog training and agility center for me and my clients. It’s really exciting.

And then I can’t find the can opener. Welcome back, anxiety.

Roman, my husband, is rock steady. Consistently calm in the face of lost utensils and missing toys, he is my salvation…an oasis of tranquility standing in the kitchen with a bag of kung-pao chicken and steamed dumplings.

The kids are primarily focused on Gus, our soon-to-be adopted cat who we found at Community Cats in Bedford Village. When I told Penny, the director that we were considering a dog-friendly cat for our new country home, she laughed. “I know just the cat,” she said with conviction. She lead us into the cat room where the mere sight of Balderdash sent all but one cat scrambling, cartoon-like. In the midst of the chaos, one cat sat calmly, surveying my over-stimulated family in an amused, completely self-assured way…he was like Roman in a little fur suit. Lindsay looked up at me and I nodded. We had ourselves a cat.

In the midst of all this happy activity, Balderdash is struggling a bit. He can sense a large transition and in BalderWorld, change is Not Good. Some of you may remember Balder’s story: a long, 4,000 mile journey that was marked by uncertainty and stress. His story had a happy ending – we adopted him into his forever home -- but Balder still worries.  Transitions are not his best thing.

For the past 9 months, he’s worked hard to do right…to feel connected and safe. He obeys commands with a zeal that until only recently seemed tinged with desperation. He lies quietly, sphinx-like, during dinner while Whoopsie, experienced and unconcerned, places herself directly under the kid’s chairs. He is, in short, a really good boy.

But the house – his secure and stable den – is torn apart. The boxes are closing in, the dog beds are packed and there’s no time for long, relaxing walks. So Balder is having a physiological reaction to stress. To put it delicately, he’s having tummy trouble. Intestinal distress. The runs. There is no time for housetraining bells or that special look by the back door. This is the diarrhea like you read about. The carpets. The floors. The sidewalk. The lawn. When he’s not frantically squatting, he’s clinging to my side as if the next thing to be boxed and shipped out is the dog himself.

While I am looking forward to the day when Balder’s tender insides feel safe enough to form a solid stool, I know this is not a housebreaking failure. Balder is experiencing high emotional stress, not backsliding. Were I to panic or attempt to correct him, his stress level would skyrocket and we could be – I am not kidding because this is a very big dog – ankle deep in poop.

To manage the situation, I keep him close to my side with a Teaching Lead. I use an effective cleaning solution made from vinegar and baking soda. During our limited periods of relaxation, I keep him on a station lead or in his crate. All of these techniques give a nervous dog a greater sense of security than a correction ever could.

Balder will be fine. I’ll be fine. The hallway carpet took a severe beating, but I have high hopes for it, too.