A straightforward journey to adopt a dog became a night of anxiety and harsh realities. After months of pleading, my wife Kelly finally gave in to my son Andy’s request for a dog—but only if it was a tiny, “presentable” dog. Andy was instantly drawn to Daisy, a sloppy mutt who was the most untidy dog at the shelter. We brought my wife home in spite of her resistance.

Daisy was restless that night, pacing and complaining. Reluctantly, Kelly went to soothe her. When I woke up later, at around three in the morning, Andy was gone. Daisy was gone, the window was ajar, and his bed was empty. Panic struck. I told Kelly, and she looked guilty, but we had no answers.

We searched for hours before a neighbor called to report seeing Andy close to the woods. Daisy was by his side when we discovered him shivering and curled up beneath a tree. None of us had anticipated the bond they had developed. When we got home, though, Kelly told us the truth: she had let Daisy go in the hopes that Andy would simply move on. She was unaware that he would pursue her, endangering himself.

Despite my anger, I came to the crucial realization that family isn’t about perfection as I observed my son and Daisy together. It’s about learning to forgive and accept the messy times. We’d all have to get used to Daisy staying.