We never planned to take a teen into our house at our ages—mid-seventies. Alan is preparing to leave this earth for heaven, and all I want to do is…write books.

Still, we have a teen in our house and it’s my fault. I love children, I really do. Even teens. And I love rough collies and always have since childhood, a love that probably sprang from “Lassie” films.

What I forgot when we introduced rough collie Savannah into our home and heart is that to successfully train a dog—one must be smarter than the dog. That gets me every time with every collie. Training is completed—in me. I become well-trained. The collie…not so much.

What happened with Savannah this morning made me recognize the teen status of our dog. She reminds me of a foster child I once took into our home. Terri was stubborn and determined. When she came out of the bedroom dressed for school in a mini-skirt that a friend loaned her, I made her change. Her tears and protests rode with us all the way from our house to the school. Thus I was suspicious the next day when she meekly donned the knee-length skirt I had purchased for her. When I visited the school later in the day for an appointment with one of Terri’s teachers I saw why Terri hadn’t protested. She breezed into the office with her skirt rolled up at the top displaying her legs all the way up to her butt. Terri was good at circumventing the rules. So is Savannah.

Savannah loves our veterinary clinic. She loves the staff. She seems to believe that they are there solely for her. When she plans the schedule for the day it begins with a walk to the vet clinic to visit her friends. Once when Savannah needed treatment as a puppy, the clinic’s owner told me, “Your dog is stubborn. I’ve never seen a more stubborn dog.” Savannah apparently failed to be offended by the criticism

The vet’s office is enclosed in a fence with two gates at opposite ends. When the office is closed over the weekend, Savannah insists on trying both gates even after I explain to her that it’s closed. When I say, “Savannah, we’re not going to the vet clinic today, it’s closed,” Savannah will lead me around the grocery store to approach the vet clinic from the back. She refuses to continue her walk until she has checked both gates.

This morning I was in a hurry to get back home. I had people to meet and things to do. I parked at a different store, one further away from the vet’s clinic, and told Savannah we weren’t going there. We weren’t—but Savannah was. She tried leading me along the shortest route to the clinic. I stopped her. She tugged on the leash, whined, and complained, but she finally complied with my demand. At least, I thought she complied.

Then she led me eagerly toward the curved bridge over the burn (Scottish for little stream). There is a nice patch of grass on the other side that she loves to sniff. After we crossed it, however, I realized that her destination was not the grass patch—it was the loop around to the vet’s office on the back side. When I pulled her back this time, she sat down and turned such a pathetic look on me that I could see the conversation bubbles over her head. “Mom, I have to go see my friends. They’re waiting for me. I can’t disappoint them. They’re my friends, Mom. You have to let me go see my friends. All the other dogs are going.”

At that point, it might as well have been Terri in her mini-skirt with tears in her eyes saying, “Mom, let me wear this skirt. All my friends wear short skirts like this.
They will be disappointed, Mom. I can’t let them down.”

And that’s when I realized…we have a teen in the house.

“These words you shall teach diligently to your children.” Deuteronomy 6:6.

Amazon.com: Stephanie Parker McKean: books, biography, latest update