22/03/2025
Adolescence has arrived in this house! Six months old, and Bertie is changing by the day — sometimes hour to hour. One minute he’s leggy and sweet, melting into me for a cuddle on the sofa. The next, he’s flinging himself headlong into life like a teenager who’s overdone the Red Bull and found the front door unlocked.
He cocked his leg to p*e the other day for the first time. It was awkward and unsure, more of a sideways lean than a proper lift. But still, it felt like a big deal. A rite of passage. He’s not just marking territory; he’s beginning to carve out his place in the world. There’s a new kind of confidence about him, and with it, a steady trickle of challenge!
He’s started pushing back. Not in any dramatic way, more like subtle, everyday defiance. That slow turn of the head when I call him, the pause before deciding whether coming back is worth it. It’s less about being ‘naughty’ and more about him figuring out his autonomy. “Do I have to?” “Can I do it my way?” “What if I don’t?”
And then there’s the over-arousal. He goes from 0 to 100 in a blink. A passing dog, a gust of wind, a rogue crisp packet, it’s all so much. Sometimes he barrels into things, all noise and movement, tail high, energy spilling everywhere. Other times, just as quickly, he backtracks, visibly unsure, tail tucked, scanning the environment, and me, for answers. It’s like he’s caught between two selves: the big man explorer and the nervous kid.
What’s been most striking is how often he still looks to me; not for control, but for backup. I can almost hear the subtext: “You’ve got me, right?” It’s not about needing to be told what to do, but needing to feel supported while he works it out. That small moment of eye contact before he dives into something chaotic, or the quiet lean against my leg after a big reaction says so much.
From a behaviour perspective, this stage is where a lot of learning happens; not neat and tidy learning, but messy, layered, deeply emotional stuff. He’s not trying to ‘test boundaries’ in the way people often assume. He’s mapping the world. Testing himself. Seeing what holds steady, especially when he doesn’t.
And that’s where I come in. My job isn’t to clamp down or try to skip ahead to the ‘well-behaved’ adult dog. It’s to walk with him through the unpredictability. To let him stretch and stumble, knowing I’ll be there when he swings back, not with judgement, but with quiet steadiness.
There’s something incredibly touching about this phase. Frustrating and annoying? Yes. Exhausting? Often. But underneath all the noise and growing pains, I can see glimpses of the dog he’s becoming. He’s finding his shape. And every time he returns to me, after the zoomies, the barking, the bouncing off the sofas, he brings a bit more of that future self with him.
So I breathe a bit deeper, remind myself to be patient and keep showing up. I laugh more than I sigh (most days). And I remind myself: this stage isn’t forever, but it is important. It’s where trust is deepened, not just taught. Where we learn to read each other in the chaos, not just the calm.
If you have an adolescent dog, remember it's not forever!