Mastering ‘Sit’ and ‘Stay’ with a Morkie: Fun Training Games

It was a Tuesday afternoon, specifically 2:17 PM, when Georgie decided the only thing more interesting than a treat was the dust bunny lurking under the coffee table. I’d just given the “Stay” command, a command she usually honored with the stoicism of a tiny, fluffy Buddha. Not today. Today, the dust bunny beckoned, a siren song of fluff and forgotten crumbs. She broke her stay, a triumphant little skip, and launched herself at the offending fluff, emerging victorious and very pleased with herself. This, my friends, is the daily reality of training a Morkie: a delightful dance between absolute brilliance and pure, unadulterated squirrel-brain. (Check out our top pick: training treats.)

The truth is, teaching Georgie the basics like “sit” and “stay” isn’t about rigid drills; it’s about turning it into the most entertaining game she’s ever played. Forget the stern instructor persona. You’re now a game show host, and your Morkie is the star contestant. Take “sit,” for example. We started with the classic treat-lure, slowly moving a high-value treat over her head until her little hindquarters hit the floor. The moment she sat, even for a millisecond, it was a rapid-fire “Yes!” and the treat was in her mouth, followed by an explosion of praise and happy noises. The key wasn’t just the treat; it was the sheer, over-the-top joy I exuded. She learned that “sit” didn’t just mean a treat; it meant a party, and Georgie loves parties.

Then came “stay,” which, as my dust bunny anecdote proves, is an ongoing saga. My strategy evolved into what I call “The Great Morkie Freeze Game.” I’d tell her to “stay,” give her a treat, take one tiny step back, then immediately step back to her, give another treat, and release her with a cheerful “Okay!” We gradually increased the distance and duration, but always, always, with success. If she broke her stay, I wouldn’t scold; I’d just reset, making it easier. The game isn’t about punishment for failure; it’s about rewarding every tiny flicker of success. One time, during a particularly intense Freeze Game session, I put a treat on the floor in front of her, walked to the other side of the room, and she held it. Her little eyes were wide with focus, her body a trembling monument to self-control. When I finally released her, the treat vanished in a nanosecond, and she looked up at me as if to say, “Did I win?” Yes, Georgie, you won. Every single time.

The trick isn’t perfection; it’s consistency and making it genuinely fun. Your Morkie isn’t trying to be difficult; they’re just being a Morkie – curious, energetic, and easily distracted by rogue fluff. Embrace the silliness, celebrate the small victories, and always end on a positive note. Make training a daily dose of joy for both of you.

Turn every training session into an exciting game where success is the only outcome.

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