Sometime around 1980 a friend of mine asked me to house-sit & take care of their small Lhasa Apso dog, Tibet, while she and her family went on vacation. I liked their dog, even though she was an extremely nervous, twitchy little pup. We’d go for walks, and occasionally I’d take her to my family’s home 6-7 blocks away, so she could sniff out some new territory, and harass my brother’s cat, Confucius. Tibet loved Confucius. Confucius mostly hid in the closet whenever Tibet visited.

I was at my family home one day with Tibet – no one else around – when I called UW-L to track down my paycheck that had evidently gone M.I.A... They told me they thought they had the problem figured out, but needed some info. from me. Could I come by?

I did some quick calculations. My brother’s bike was sitting on the porch. I could ride over in 10 minutes… deal with payroll… and be back… in maybe 45 minutes? An hour at most? Tibet was used to our house, and I left the TV on and some doggy treats on the sofa she was curled up on. “I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone!” I assured her.

Approximately 50 minutes later, I returned. Tibet wasn’t on the couch. No scampering little feet to greet me. I went upstairs to look around, even checking Confucius’s preferred hiding spots. No Tibet. Downstairs, I checked closets, under furniture… growing increasingly unsettled and bewildered. I wandered over to the windows in the living room—and then noticed the small chunk of glass broken out of the window, and an equally tiny patch of screen entirely missing. There were smears of blood on the window sill, window glass, & screen.

Horrified & stunned, I went outside and looked around the yard, fully expecting to see a dead or dying little Tibet in a heap somewhere. No Tibet. Mild panic began to set in, and I decided that maybe I should check in with other family members, to see if anyone had stopped by and seen her. Out of everyone, I figured my father was least likely to treat me like a total idiot—so he got the first call.

I called Dad’s office, identified myself to his secretary, and asked if he might be available. A couple minutes later, Dad got on the line. I started explaining my call very calmly & casually, telling him about Tibet… me leaving & finding her gone when I returned… but when I hit the part about the broken glass & blood all over the window -- I lost it. I have a vague memory of sobbing into the phone something on the order of “I think I’ve killed my friend’s dog!” (Cut me some slack. I was 22 yrs old—and possibly HAD just killed my friend’s dog.)

My father’s response was immediate. “Stay put, Honey. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” He hung up. A short while later, he pulled into the parking area behind the house, and I went out to meet him. My first order of business was a profuse apology for being so upset… for bothering him in the middle of a work day.

Dad looked at me archly and took his ever-present cigarette out of his mouth. “Don’t apologize!” he told me. “I was in the middle of an idiotic board meeting WITH a bunch of idiots. I was thrilled to be able to tell them I had a family emergency, and leave.”

I showed Dad the broken window and torn screen, and he stood examining it for a few moments. Then he went outside, and studied the ground underneath & surrounding the window. Coming back in, he simply said, “Let’s get in the car. Tell me the exact route you used to walk over here.”

As we made the short trip to my friend’s house, he explained: “I don’t think that little pup is severely harmed. There was no blood on the ground outside. She probably scraped herself squeezing through the glass, but if she’d hurt herself badly—she’d still be in that yard somewhere.”

“I don’t see how she possibly could have squeezed through that hole in the window without eviscerating herself," I replied. "She’s a small dog… but Dad, that broken part was maybe a 3rd of her body size—without all the fur.” I was busy scanning the streets & sidewalks as we drove—still expecting to see a furry little lump lying somewhere.

Dad chuckled. “You’d be amazed at what a determined little animal can accomplish, Honey. And I think there’s an excellent chance we’ll find her at her own home.” I stayed silent, hoping my dad’s South Carolina farm boy instincts were functioning at full wattage.

We pulled into my friend’s driveway a couple minutes later. Just as predicted—Tibet was seated on the top step of the doorway, eyeing us as if to question what had taken us so damned long. I scooped her up and did a quick check. An almost perfect 3” x 3” square of screen was embedded in her chest fur, and her paws were bloody. I unlocked my friend’s door and beckoned my father inside.

Dad took Tibet from me, and asked for scissors, a bath towel, and some wet paper towels. He then took a seat on the living room floor and proceeded to gently cut the screen from Tibet’s fur. He examined her paws, carefully cleaned blood and dirt off with towels, checked the rest of her furry little body, and noted that with the exception of some broken nails -- which would heal in no time – the pup was unharmed and in fine shape.

Tibet – who normally treated strangers as if they were demons summoned from the pits of hell -- nestled in Dad’s arms throughout the process, gazing at him adoringly. Licking my father’s hand, she indicated her approval of his observations. When he left, she gave every indication of wanting to leave with him… trotting to the door by his side, and throwing me a glance that clearly said, “You left me alone in that house—so he’s MY daddy now… Bitch!”

Years later, I discovered that Dad had a concrete instruction in place with his secretary: “Any member of my family who calls — put them through. I don’t care what I’m in the middle of.” Dad wasn’t a perfect father by any means – but it was little things like that instruction… like abandoning his entire day to search & care for a puppy… like not telling me to suck it up and figure it out, as many a parent would have… that made him an amazing father.

©️dmj / Sept 30th, 2026