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| My son wasn't able to land a summer job or volunteer gig, so he fostered a puppy instead. He learned responsibility and so much more. Courtesy of Shilpashree Jagannathan. |
When my 14-year-old son struck out on every summer job and volunteer application, I started to worry. Not about the paycheck — I knew the odds of a teenager finding steady summer work weren’t great — but about the long, empty weeks ahead.
I didn’t want the season to dissolve into a blur of late mornings, endless Minecraft videos, and drifting boredom. I wanted him to have something that anchored his days, gave him purpose, and maybe even taught him something about himself. He tried. He applied online to our public library, a local physiotherapy clinic, and a handful of summer camps. No responses. He wasn’t yet confident enough to walk into a shop and ask for a job face-to-face.
That’s when we had an idea — a little unconventional, maybe even a little crazy. What if we fostered a rescue puppy?
A New Kind of “Summer Job”
I reached out to Niagara Dog Rescue, a nonprofit that places dogs in temporary homes until they’re adopted. I explained that my son was looking for volunteer hours for school, but also something more — something that would make him feel like his summer meant something. They agreed to let us foster a puppy for a short stint.
We already had one dog, Cookie, a sweet rescue who joined our family 18 months earlier. At first, my son had been unsure around her. She, in many ways, trained him — teaching him about patience, boundaries, and the quiet language dogs use when they trust you.
This time, though, the roles would reverse. He would be the one teaching, guiding, and caring.
Enter Mirage
The puppy we were matched with was named Mirage — a small, black-furred burst of nervous energy with wide, watchful eyes. On the first day, she pressed herself against my son’s legs like she was trying to disappear into him. He didn’t mind. He scooped her up, carried her into the backyard, and whispered to her that she was safe now.
It didn’t take long to realize this wouldn’t be an easy gig. Mirage wasn’t house-trained. She howled through the night despite being crate-trained. She chewed anything within reach and seemed to have a bottomless well of energy. My son was up at 5:30 every morning to her sharp bark, dragging himself outside before sunrise to let her run.
And yet, not once did he suggest giving her back early. He played with her for hours. He practiced leash manners with gentle persistence. He taught her to sit, stay, and come — all with treats and soft praise. And he cleaned up every mess without complaint, often before the rest of us were awake.
It wasn’t glamorous, but he handled it like someone who understood that caring for another creature means showing up — even when it’s inconvenient.
The “End” That Wasn’t
After 10 days, I figured our fostering adventure was over. My son had logged his volunteer hours for school, and Mirage had transformed from a jittery, uncertain puppy into a calmer, more confident one.
Then the rescue called. Could we keep her a little longer — just until the end of summer?
When I told my son, he didn’t even ask if it meant more volunteer credit. He jumped up and said, “Yes!”
With Mirage’s stay extended, he came up with a plan: he and his 12-year-old brother would alternate nights sleeping near the dogs so they could share early-morning duty. The arrangement worked surprisingly well. His younger brother, who’d always been more the family comedian than the responsible one, began stepping up too — feeding, walking, and learning the rhythm of showing up for someone who relied on you.
Lessons Worth More Than a Paycheck
By the time Mirage’s forever home was found, my son had learned more than I’d imagined.
He didn’t learn how to run a cash register or fold stockroom boxes, but he learned how to wake up before he wanted to. He learned to stay calm when someone else was overwhelmed. He learned that sometimes, your own needs take a back seat — even if the “someone” you’re caring for is a teething puppy.
What he gained was something quieter and deeper than job skills: the quiet pride of being trusted and proving you’re worthy of that trust.
When I told him Mirage would be leaving soon, he sat still for a moment, then said softly, “I hope they have a big backyard,” before adding, “I’m going to miss her so much.”
This summer didn’t give him a paycheck or a résumé line, but it gave him something more important — the knowledge that he can show up every day for something that can’t pay him back in anything but love.
For all the talk about Gen Z and Gen Alpha being glued to screens or lacking motivation, I saw a different picture this summer: a teenager who found purpose in caring for a life that depended on him. And that, I think, is worth more than any summer job.
