Dog's life for restless teens

I have two fluffy, little dogs that have spent the majority of their lives as “outdoor pets.” This means they’ve stood at our patio door drooling on the glass, watching us exist without them.

I recently made all their dreams come true. I brought them inside. They now sleep on a large pillow deemed their bed in the middle of our living room – happy as, well, two long neglected dogs that now live indoors.

Yesterday, I left the front door open two seconds too long. Both my Pomeranian and terrier jetted down the front steps faster than I could say, “ingrate.” Their tiny bums wagged wildly as they broke free of their constraints.

Where were they going? Who knows? I yelled after them, offering them the coveted wet food they so desire. They pretended not to hear me.

I waited 10 minutes. They both ran home, tongues extended, thrilled about their jaunt to nowhere. They fully expected me to take them back into our warm house. I did.

I hoped that my teenage daughter, slumped over in the chair thinking about her weekend plans, would catch the symbolism. She didn’t.

Having a teenager is like that. You can give them a warm bed, a big TV, a computer, hot meals and compassion, yet they spend all their time waiting for that front door to open wide enough so they can race off into the sunset. Then, when hunger or poverty overtakes them, they expect to come home to the same safe environment from which they so happily escaped. They want you to welcome them back. You always do.

Let me tell you another story. My 13-year-old daughter let me know last week that I'm ruining her life. She can’t wait to break free of her chains in this restrictive household. I tried to make her understand the power of her words. When the person you love most disregards your feelings in that way, all because you didn’t let them wear a short skirt or go out with their friends, it hurts. In fact, it’s a new kind of hurt that you’ve never experienced before.

My daughter brushed off my upset. She didn’t need me anyway. I’m just a roadblock to the blissfulness she could be experiencing in her world of cute boys and MTV Cribs.

My feelings were bruised and my temper peaked.

Within hours, my daughter nonchalantly asked to use my computer. Soon, she would want a ride to the movies or be scrounging through the pantry looking for “something good to eat” - something I’d lugged my toddler around the grocery store to buy for her. I explained to my child that she couldn’t say hurtful things to someone, then expect to use their stuff and employ their services.

In other words: I yelled after her to stop her frantic run to nowhere. She ignored me.

I’m trying to understand my daughter’s need to escape from something that doesn’t seem so bad in the first place. Where is she running? I guess she’s running toward that vague life she will someday create for herself. She’s looking for her own future that lies somewhere outside our family home.

Let’s face it, she’s trying to find that permanent escape route from the parenting of me and my husband. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love us.

When my Pomeranian strutted back into the house, satisfied and content after her run, she planted herself at my feet. She stared at me with her usual enamored glare and then rolled onto her back hoping for a good belly rub. In her mind, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t made me late to meet my husband for dinner. She hadn’t ignored my commands. She hadn’t frustrated me. She had just stretched her legs.

I guess that’s the way teenagers see it. They’re exercising their individuality – phone in one hand, junk food in the other, friends on the mind, school the furthest thing from it. It’s our job not to take it personally when they walk past us in the hallway and don’t acknowledge that we exist. We’ve helped bring them this far. Now they want to chart their own path. Ours is predictable and safe. They don’t want that yet.

We’ll let them out for a run as often as possible, but we’ll be waiting at the front door when they return. They can test their speed and stamina, but they must do so without kicking the people around them and without stirring up too much dust. Respect will take them further in life than any mad dash into the unknown.

As for parents, we have to remember to go out for a jog now and then ourselves. There are still new paths for us to explore. It’s good for the heart. It stretches our muscles. Plus, it helps us keep up with our ever-escaping kids.