Emma Collins Facebook ad: “Read this if your puppy WON'T potty train”

About this ad

Meta Ad Library ID

972819145199170

Platforms

Facebook, Instagram and Messenger

Relaunches

0

EU reach

555

Niche

Pets

How we count

Ad text

Six months ago, I thought potty training my golden retriever puppy was just going to take patience. Now I was scrubbing urine out of my bedroom carpet at 6 AM for the third time that week. Luna was six months old. Half a year of accidents. Half a year of coming home to mystery puddles. Half a year of that smell that never quite left no matter how much enzyme cleaner I used. You know what's worse than the accidents themselves? It's the unpredictability. March, when I first brought her home, it was maybe once a day. I could handle that. She was eight weeks old. Puppies have accidents. Everyone said it would get better. April. Twice a day. Sometimes three times. But she was still small, so the puddles were manageable. I bought more paper towels. More cleaner. Told myself it was temporary. May. I stopped counting. The accidents weren't decreasing. They were just happening. Randomly. No pattern I could identify. I'd take her outside, she'd do nothing, we'd come back in, and ten minutes later there'd be a puddle by the couch. June. The month I realized this wasn't getting better on its own. I'd tried everything the internet suggested. Crate training. Taking her out every hour. Treating her when she went outside. Watching her like a hawk for "signs." (What signs? She gave no signs.) Restricting water. Not restricting water. Different schedules. Nothing worked. And the worst part? Luna was the sweetest dog I'd ever had. She was cuddly and playful and so eager to please. Like that time she accidentally bit my arm while chewing her antler and immediately crawled into my lap to apologize with face licks. She wasn't being bad. She just... didn't understand where she was supposed to go when we were inside. But I was drowning. My apartment smelled. I knew it did. I'd become nose-blind to it, but I saw how my sister hesitated at the door when she visited. How my coworker made an excuse when I offered to carpool. I couldn't have people over anymore. I'd stopped inviting anyone. Who wants to sit on a couch when you're not sure if the cushion next to you has been peed on? (It probably had been. I'd shampooed them twice.) My security deposit was gone. I knew that. The carpet in the bedroom was ruined. The living room wasn't far behind. I was looking at hundreds in replacement costs when I moved out. But it was the exhaustion that really got me. The constant vigilance. The always being on alert. The mental load of tracking when she last went out, whether she'd had water, if that look meant she needed to go or if she was just staring at me because she wanted pets. I couldn't relax in my own home. Every time I sat down, part of my brain was monitoring her. Every time I focused on work, I was listening for the sound of her moving to a different room. Every time I went to bed, I was dreading what I'd find in the morning. And then came the day that broke me. July 23rd. A Tuesday. I had a job interview. A big one. The kind that could change my career trajectory. I'd been preparing for weeks. I'd bought a new blazer. I'd practiced my answers. I'd gotten up early to make sure Luna was walked and fed and settled before I had to log on. The interview was at 10 AM. At 9:47, I was reviewing my notes one last time. At 9:51, Luna squatted and peed on my bed while I was sitting on it. Not near it. On it. While I was sitting there. I had nine minutes before the most important interview of my life, and my dog had just peed on me. I sat there in the bathroom afterward, wearing the only other professional top I owned, and I cried. Not pretty crying. Ugly, hiccupping, can't-catch-my-breath crying. The interview was a disaster. I couldn't focus. I kept thinking about the wet spot on my mattress. About whether I smelled like dog urine. About how I'd have to throw away my new blazer because there was no saving it. I didn't get the job. And I sat on my bathroom floor that night and realized I'd lost more than just an opportunity. I'd lost my peace. My confidence. My ability to feel comfortable in my own space. My social life. My professional credibility. (How do you explain to a potential employer that your dog peed on you right before the interview?) I'd lost myself. The person who used to have friends over for dinner parties. The person who could focus on work without constant interruption. The person who didn't flinch every time her dog stood up. I loved Luna. I really did. But I was starting to resent her. And that made me feel like the worst person alive. Because it wasn't her fault. She was a puppy. She didn't know any better. But I didn't know how to teach her. I'd tried professional help. Really tried. $180 for a consultation with a dog trainer who told me to "be more consistent" with taking her out. (I was taking her out every hour. How much more consistent could I be?) $340 for a different trainer who insisted on crate training and made Luna so anxious she started having accidents in her crate. Which just made everything worse. $67 for puppy pads from the pet store that Luna either ignored completely or shredded into confetti. The ones she did use leaked through onto my floor within minutes. $89 for different puppy pads that were supposed to have "attractant scent." Luna used them exactly once and then went back to peeing on the carpet next to them. $156 for an "indoor potty system" that was basically a patch of fake grass in a tray. Luna was terrified of it. Wouldn't go near it. $425 for a consultation with a veterinary behaviorist who told me Luna was perfectly healthy and normal, and recommended a $2,000 intensive training program I absolutely could not afford. Over $1,200 spent. Nothing worked. By August, I'd stopped believing there was a solution. This was just my life now. A smelly apartment and constant stress and ruined carpets and canceled plans. I'd accepted it. Or at least, I'd stopped fighting it. And then, on a random Thursday in late August, I was doom-scrolling Reddit at lunch. I wasn't even on a dog subreddit. I was on some general advice forum, killing time between meetings. And there was this post from a woman talking about her mother who had dementia. Except halfway through the comments, someone had shared their own story. About how they'd been caring for their grandmother, and the stress had been overwhelming, and their dog had started having accidents because they weren't able to maintain a consistent schedule anymore. And they mentioned, almost as an aside, that they'd found these reusable puppy pads that had "some kind of scent thing that helped the dog know where to go." They said it had saved their sanity during an impossible time. I almost scrolled past. Almost didn't click on their profile to see if they'd mentioned the product anywhere else. But something made me stop. Maybe it was the way they described the unpredictability. The constant cleaning. The smell that never left. The guilt of resenting a dog who didn't understand. It was my exact experience. Word for word. And they'd found a way out. I found the product name in a comment they'd left on a different post. Pet+ Puppy Pad. I Googled it immediately. Right there in the break room. The website explained something I'd never considered. Dogs don't naturally understand that they're supposed to pee on a specific pad inside. They need a sensory cue. A signal that tells them "this is the bathroom spot." That's why Luna ignored the pads. They didn't mean anything to her. They were just random rectangles on the floor. But these pads had something called Instinct Cue Technology. A scent signal that dogs recognize as a bathroom marker. Not a "attractant" that smells like urine (gross), but an actual instinct-level cue. And the pads themselves were designed to actually work. Rapid absorption so the liquid doesn't pool on top. Leak-proof backing so it doesn't soak through to the floor. Odor control built into the layers. Non-slip bottom so it doesn't slide around when the dog steps on it. They were reusable. Machine washable. Not disposable pads that I'd have to keep buying forever. I ordered them that afternoon. $89 for a two-pack. Compared to the $1,200 I'd already wasted, it felt like nothing. What did I have to lose at this point? They arrived two days later. Saturday morning. I put one in the spot where Luna had accidents most frequently. The corner of the living room near the balcony door. And I waited. Day one. Nothing. She sniffed it a few times but didn't use it. I tried not to feel disappointed. Day two. I came home from work to find the pad wet. And the floor around it completely dry. She'd used it. I actually gasped out loud. Stood there staring at it like it was a miracle. Day three. Used it again. Twice. Day four. No accidents anywhere else. Just the pad. Within a week, Luna was consistently using the pad. Not every single time, but enough that the accidents on the carpet had basically stopped. Within two weeks, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to clean urine off the floor. The pad absorbed everything. No leaks. No puddles spreading across the hardwood. No smell seeping into the floorboards. And when it was time to wash it, I just threw it in the machine and it came out clean. But the real change wasn't just the accidents stopping. It was the mental space I got back. I could focus on work without listening for Luna's movements. I could sit on my couch and watch TV without keeping one eye on her. I could go to bed without dreading what I'd find in the morning. I could relax. My sister came over in September and didn't hesitate at the door. Didn't wrinkle her nose. She actually said, "Your place smells so much better." I invited my coworker over for coffee. We sat on the couch. The same couch I'd shampooed twice. And I didn't spend the whole time worried about what she was thinking. I got called back for a second interview at a different company in October. I nailed it. Got the job. And when I started, I didn't have that underlying current of chaos and stress that had been drowning me before. Because my home was peaceful again. Luna still has accidents occasionally. She's not perfect. But they're on the pad. And the pad handles it. No stress. No emergency cleaning. No smell lingering for days. I didn't get my old life back. The one before Luna. The one where I didn't have to think about bathroom schedules and cleaning supplies. I got something better. A life with a dog I love, in a home that doesn't smell, with mental space for things that actually matter. The bathroom floor where I cried in July feels like a different lifetime. That version of me who couldn't see a way out, who thought this was just what having a puppy meant, who was ready to give up. She's not gone. I remember her. But she's not who I am anymore. I'm sharing this because someone else's story saved me. Some random person on Reddit who mentioned these pads in a comment thread I almost didn't read. If I'd scrolled past, I'd probably still be drowning. Still scrubbing carpets at 6 AM. Still canceling plans because my apartment smelled. Still resenting my dog while feeling guilty about it. The product is called Pet+. Pet+ Puppy Pad. That's what pulled me out. It's not magic. Luna didn't suddenly become perfectly potty trained overnight. But she finally had a clear signal for where to go inside. And I finally had a pad that actually worked. They have a money-back guarantee if it doesn't work for your dog. (I didn't need it, but it made me feel better about trying.) My apartment doesn't smell anymore. My carpets are clean. My stress is gone. I can have people over. I can focus on my life instead of constantly managing accidents. And Luna? She's still the sweet, apologetic puppy who crawls into my lap when she thinks she's done something wrong. Except now, she's not doing anything wrong. She knows where to go. If you're where I was in July, crying on the bathroom floor because you can't take it anymore, I want you to know it doesn't have to stay that way. Rock bottom isn't where you stay. It's where you start. Someone else's story gave me hope when I had none left. If my story does that for even one person, it's worth sharing.

Where the ad sends people

petplus.co

Read this if your puppy WON'T potty train 👆

5 Reasons Dog Owners Are Obsessed With PupLab's New Reusable Pee Pads.