How My Dog Learned to Ride the Elevator

I moved into a twelfth-floor apartment with my anxious rescue greyhound, Lotte, who had never seen an elevator. The first time the doors opened she backed away like it was a dragon's mouth.

We practiced for three weeks. Treats on the threshold. Treats inside. Riding one floor up, then two. The building's doorman, a big quiet man named Teo, started saving chicken from his lunch for her.

Neighbors got invested. A woman on nine would hold the door and cheer. A kid on six named the project "Operation Lotte."

The day she walked in on her own and lay down with a sigh, three people applauded. Now she rides like a seasoned commuter and wags at everyone who steps in. I moved into this building not knowing a soul. A scared dog introduced me to the whole place.