SS: The Otaku Guide to Housebreaking Your Pets (& Boys)

Monica bounced on the balls of her feet, a coiled spring of middle school energy barely contained. Her pink-streaked pigtails—dyed to match her favorite magical girl’s finishing move—defied gravity as she watched her dad gently lower a cardboard box onto the living room rug.

A low, uncertain whimper escaped from inside. Monica’s breath hitched. Her eyes, usually glued to the latest anime marathon, locked onto the box like it was a treasure chest in a JRPG.

Her dad crouched beside it, voice softer than she’d ever heard. “I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of the family, Pochi.”

The lid peeled back to reveal a trembling puff of fur, no bigger than Monica’s fist. Pochi, a Pomeranian with eyes dark and soulful like a misunderstood anime villain, blinked up at her. His tail—a fluffy comma—wagged so hard his whole body wobbled, scattering bits of blanket fluff like confetti.

Monica dropped to her knees, hands clasped in reverent awe. “He’s… he’s so fluffy! So smol! It’s like a real-life chibi character just manifested in our house!”

Her voice echoed through the living room—a shrine to her passions. Shelves overflowed with light novels, posters of waifus and husbandos wallpapered the walls, and a beanbag shaped like a giant cat lounged in the corner like a sleepy guardian.

Her dad chuckled, a sound that always seemed to acknowledge her unique brand of enthusiasm, and handed her a brightly colored booklet.

“Here’s the training guide from the shelter. Read it carefully. Pochi needs positive reinforcement, clear commands, and consistency.”

Monica took the booklet like it was a sacred scroll. The cover featured a cartoon shiba inu with a bone, smiling beneath the title: Pawsitive Reinforcement: Your Guide to a Well-Behaved Companion. She flipped through the pages, the crisp paper rustling like the turning of a spellbook.

Her mind, already buzzing with anime logic, began to spin.

“So… he’s like a low-level monster, and I’m his trainer? This is an RPG. I’m his summoner!”

She practically vibrated with excitement. Her dad sighed, retreating to the kitchen for emergency coffee, probably muttering something about “otaku logic.”

Pochi, meanwhile, decided his first act of rebellion would be to pee on the rug. A small, dark puddle spread across the pristine beige carpet like an inkblot, precisely where a limited-edition Shonen Soul manga had been just yesterday.

Monica stared, her anime-fueled dreams of a perfectly obedient, adorable sidekick momentarily shattered. The reality of pet ownership was a far cry from the cute, flawless companions in her shows. This was going to be harder than she thought. Pochi let out another tiny yip, as if challenging her to the first boss battle.

Monica narrowed her eyes at the training booklet, a spark of determination igniting behind her glasses.

The first mission had begun.

The next few days unfolded like a chaotic side quest—Monica’s living room transformed into a battlefield of puppy-proofing, scattered chew toys, and increasingly desperate cries of “Pochi, no!” delivered with the intensity of a battle-shonen protagonist mid-power-up.

The Pawsitive Reinforcement booklet, now dog-eared and smudged with tiny paw prints, had taken on the status of sacred scripture. Monica sat cross-legged on the rug, holding a piece of kibble like it was a magical talisman.

“When Pochi performs a desired action, immediately reward him with a treat and verbal praise,” she read aloud, voice solemn.

The instruction, simple in theory. In practice? A boss battle.

“Pochi, sit!” she commanded, her voice high-pitched and earnest.

Pochi tilted his head, eyes wide with innocent confusion, then lunged for her shoelace like it owed him money. Monica groaned and flopped backward onto the rug, arms splayed dramatically.

“This isn’t like in anime where they just feel your intentions!”

She tried again, gently guiding his tiny rear to the floor. “Good boy! Sit! Yes! Excellent!”

Pochi gobbled the chicken treat with gusto, tail wagging like he’d just unlocked a rare achievement. Monica beamed, her heart swelling with pride—and maybe a little delusion.

Later that afternoon, Allen, her self-proclaimed "rival" and long-suffering best friend, came over. He found Monica meticulously laying out a trail of treats, guiding Pochi towards a newspaper laid out with military precision.

“What is this?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Monica didn’t look up. “It’s Pochi’s dungeon crawl to the designated peeing spot. Every successful navigation earns him a reward. It’s classical conditioning, Allen. Basic psychology.”

Allen scoffed, plucking a manga from the rug. “You’re taking this dog training way too seriously. He’s just a dog.”

Monica’s head snapped up. “He’s not just a dog. He’s my companion. My familiar. And he will be the most well-behaved familiar in the entire neighborhood.”

Pochi reached the newspaper, paused, then squatted with a triumphant whimper.

“Yes! Excellent! Good Pochi! You leveled up!” Monica cheered, showering him with treats like confetti.

Allen shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

Monica didn’t respond. She was too busy scribbling something in the margins of the training booklet—something about “XP gain” and “reward intervals.”

Allen watched her, bemused. This was a normal Saturday morning in Monica’s world. But something in her eyes—focused, calculating—made him wonder if he’d just become part of the quest.

Monica sat cross-legged on the rug, Pochi perched beside her like a fuzzy sidekick. The training booklet lay open between them, its once-pristine pages now creased and paw-smudged. She squinted at the section titled “Stay: Building Trust Through Consistency.”

“Stay, Pochi. Stay!” she repeated, voice rising with each command.

Pochi held position for a glorious half-second before darting toward a dust bunny that looked suspiciously like a tiny, fluffy demon. Monica groaned, flopping onto her back with theatrical despair.

“This is harder than the final boss in Magical Girl Yumeko: Eternal Eclipse.”

She reread the instructions, lips pursed. “Ignore unwanted behaviors. Reward success immediately.” The words shimmered with a new kind of power—like a spell she hadn’t cast correctly until now.

Her eyes narrowed. A memory surfaced: Allen, casually spoiling the ending of the latest Yumeko episode just yesterday. Her gasp had been audible. Her pout, legendary. The silent treatment? Impeccable. He’d cracked within hours, offering a limited-edition keychain as tribute. It now dangled from her backpack like a badge of victory.

Monica sat up slowly, the gears in her mind turning. She glanced at Pochi, then at the booklet. Then—dangerously—at Allen’s manga pile strewn across her floor.

Ignore unwanted behaviors…

A grin crept across her face, mischievous and glittering like a rare in-game item. Allen had a habit of “borrowing” her peach-flavored snacks without asking, always claiming they were “communal.” He also had a predictable reaction pattern: sighs, eye twitches, and flustered rebuttals whenever she pushed his buttons just right.

The booklet illustrations, depicting dogs with various expressions of understanding and obedience, suddenly morphed. The shiba inu with the bone on the cover now had Allen’s perpetually exasperated face.

“Sit.”  “Stay.”  “Come.”  “No.”

Each command, mundane for Pochi, now pulsed with terrifying potential.

Monica’s heart thudded with giddy realization. What if Allen was just… a slightly larger, bipedal Pochi? A secret boss she hadn’t realized was part of her personal RPG?

She grabbed her notebook, the one usually reserved for anime rankings and fan theories, and began scribbling furiously. Her handwriting was bubbly, but her intent was razor-sharp.

The thought sent a shiver of delight down her spine, a spark of pure, unadulterated genius. The possibilities were endless. The world, previously divided into "humans" and "dogs," suddenly blurred into "protagonists" and "trainable companions."

Monica began to observe Allen with a new, almost scientific intensity. Her mind, now a a meticulous database of otaku-centric behavioral patterns, logged his every move. When he tidied up his manga (a rare occurrence she noted was often followed by a request to use her limited-edition figurine shelf), she would offer genuine, effusive praise, much like she did for Pochi.

“Allen, you’re so responsible! What a thoughtful friend!”

Allen blinked, visibly thrown. He actually blushed. Blushed. Then preened slightly, like Pochi after a belly rub.

Monica’s eyes sparkled. She jotted down a note: Positive reinforcement = effective.

The experiment had begun.

Allen hummed the opening theme to “Nyan Nyan Paradise!”—the one Monica secretly adored but refused to admit she’d memorized. She didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned up the volume on her phone and nodded along, her smile just encouraging enough to keep him going.

He caught her eye. A shared moment. A rare truce in their ongoing anime cold war.

But when Allen started talking about baseball stats, Monica’s smile vanished. She shot him a glare sharp enough to pierce plot armor. He stopped mid-sentence.

Negative reinforcement. Effective.

It was during a particularly heated sub-vs-dub debate that the blueprint for her grand plan truly crystallized.

Allen, in peak contrarian mode, dismissed her beloved Action RomCom: Mirai Hearts as “predictable fluff.” Monica didn’t argue. She simply turned her back and began flipping through a manga volume with exaggerated interest.

Allen sputtered. “Hey! Are you even listening? My points are valid!”

Monica hummed a pop idol song under her breath, eyes glued to the page.

After a minute of increasingly desperate rebuttals, Allen sighed, defeated. “Fine! I take it back. Mirai has its moments.”

Monica spun around, triumphant. “Really? You think so, Allen?”

He shrugged, flustered. “I guess the power of friendship can be… compelling.”

Monica mentally checked a box: Successful redirection of undesirable verbal behavior. The pages of the dog training booklet seemed to whisper to her, filled with new, diabolical wisdom. She knew exactly what she had to do.

Monica sat on her bed that night, Pochi curled up at her feet, snoring softly. The training booklet lay open beside her, but her eyes weren’t on the cartoon dogs anymore. They were fixed on the future.

She flipped to Leash Training: Guiding Your Companion.

"Hmm," she mused. "Maybe I could get Allen to go to the women's department store more often... with a good reward, of course." A mental image of Allen, begrudgingly following her, but with a happy-looking bento box in his hand, flashed through her mind.

Then came Boundary Setting: Teaching What’s Acceptable.

She thought of Allen’s tendency to tease her mercilessly. "If an undesirable behavior persists, a firm 'No!' and withdrawal of attention is recommended."

She remembered her successful silent treatment from earlier. The limited-edition keychain had been the perfect reward for his "apology" behavior.

Her eyes gleamed. This wasn't just about dog training anymore. This was about people training. Specifically, Allen training. She grabbed a blank notebook, its pages pristine and ready for her grand schemes.

On the first page, she scrawled a title in bold, bubble letters: "Operation: Nadeshiko-chan Project – Early Draft."

Below it, she added a smaller, more sinister note: "Phase 1: Positive Reinforcement (Manga & Snacks)."

Pochi stirred, blinking up at her with sleepy devotion. Monica stroked his head, her voice low and conspiratorial.

“Don’t worry, Pochi. You’re a good boy. A very good boy. And soon… Allen will be too.”

She closed the booklet with a satisfying snap, her smile glowing with the kind of chaotic optimism only a true otaku strategist could muster.