Well, I did it. I went out and bought myself another teenager and moved her in the house. Really, when I bought Princess, she was just three months old. Now our miniature Schnauzer pup is a teen in dog-years.

Unlike some teens, her nose hasn't grown and she hasn't demanded pierced ears or a raise in her allowance. She's just as happy with an old red sweater as a Tommy Hilfiger one. And, best of all, she still likes Elmo (to chew on that is).

When my daughter--my baby--turned 14, and I realized I wasn't going to be a grandma any time soon, maybe never, I decided a puppy was just what I needed to help calm my maternal instinct.

Now I can rock her and wrap her in a blanket, she doesn't mind, and she's not embarrassed if her friends (the neighbor's dogs) see me holding her. She doesn't try to hide if we're walking down the street and she sees a cute boy dog. And she doesn't pretend not to hear me if I tell her to pick up her toys.

However, she still doesn't understand that high heels are for wearing and not for chewing, or that cats have rights too.

When I brought her home with pink bows in her ears and a tiny voice that didn't know how to bark, I wasn't thinking about the time she would be a teenager and have to be spayed and have to have a bigger collar, and a longer leash. Just like when I brought my own precious babies home from the hospital, I didn't think that I'd be exchanging lullabies for hard rock, or stuffed animals for a real one--a teenaged dog named Princess.