A terrier, a fourth-floor flat, and a dig box made of towels.

Before

Ziggy did two walks a day and still shredded a cushion most weeks. Dev tried long walks, then longer walks. Nothing touched the digging.

Fetch in the hallway brought a note from downstairs. So did the squeaky toys.

What Henry noticed

Terriers dig and shred because that's the job they were bred for. Henry didn't try to stop it. It gave the job somewhere to go.

Every activity had to be quiet and indoors: a box of rolled towels with treats buried inside, a slow flirt pole on the rug, a cardboard box to tear apart at the end of the day.

“He still destroys something every evening. It's just the thing I gave him.”

Written with Dev, Ziggy's owner

What changed

The cushions are intact. The dig box gets wrecked nightly and rebuilt in two minutes.

Downstairs hasn't left a note since March.