A Father's Tribute to a Reluctant Hero

John Michalke is a life-long resident of Macomb County and he and his family have lived in New Baltimore for the past 20 years. He shares his story, My Reluctant Hero, of his daughter's selfless actions with Patch.


We opened our pool Sunday. The temperature has been cool at night, with unseasonably cool spring days giving way to a stubborn layer of frost each night. So, after the sun had risen sufficiently we peeled back the frost barriers that covered all the vulnerable plants and brought the flower pots out from their hiding places.

 My daughter had brought my grandson Cooper over, and I was just finishing my morning walk when I rounded the corner to see him bounding out of the van. He had his Transformer back-pack stuffed with all the necessary pool-opening equipment: a super-soaker, diving sticks, Cars bathing suit, flip-flops etc. After some preparatory work, the pool cover came off to few surprises. Several dozen bloated worms were collected at the corners of the pool bottom, some sunken leaves and a few things that were unidentifiable and better off left to the imagination.

In order to remove some of the winterization plugs, it is required that I briefly submerge my arm elbow-deep into the water, which I surmised was about 55 degrees. I remember muttering to anyone who would listen that I am not going in this damn pool until it warms up: August.

 In the meantime, Cooper is in his swimsuit, sitting on the steps and patiently waiting for the “go sign” to jump in. My wife and I are were in front of the home on the driveway with a bucket of sudsy water and brooms and doing our best to clean seven-months worth of debris off the pool cover. This is generally about a three-hour ordeal. Suddenly the door pops open and an excited three-and-a-half year old starts screaming: “Nana, Papa, IZZYFELLINTHEPOOL!!!

 While Nana has been blessed with this little ball-of-energy, five days a week since his birth, I, on the other hand still have a problem differentiating a bona-fide emergency, from a lesser but equally important sudden appearance of a giraffe on television or the fact that the neighbor dogs “Jersy and Joe” have made an cameo at the fence behind our house. Nana, knew instantly that this was a more crucial incident and she dropped what she was doing and immediately sprang into “Grandma emergency response mode”. I shrugged and continued scrubbing, slipping and sliding.

 It was only a few minutes later that I learned about the drama that had unfolded. The “Izzy” that Cooper was speaking of is my 13 year-old Shih-Tzu Isabelle. She is the presiding “princess in residence” at our otherwise empty nest. She is in the twilight of her years and as she grows older and wearier, we are noticing her states of confusion far outnumber her moments of clarity. Every time she needs to negotiate a stair or jump up or down from the footstool that is her snoozing place, we breathe a collective sigh of relief when she succeeds. Lately, her frailty is heartbreaking. Her eyes are clouded over with cataracts and she can no longer hear when a doorbell rings or a door slams. Strangers in the house are met with a general indifference. But she is no less loved. She now tolerates being held long after my arms grow weary.

 On this day, with her aching hips, she made her path to the sliding back door that gives way to our patio. She gave that over-the-shoulder glance to anyone who would notice that she needed to go out. This occurs a dozen times of day, and generally, the door is slid open, she leaves for a few minutes, and her little face appears back in front of the door signaling she wants back in. Cooper knows the drill well, and he is usually the first to accommodate, as was the case this time. For whatever reason, Cooper wanted to go out in the backyard at this very same moment. And he pled with his mom, my daughter Jenelle to “please let him”.

 So, eight-and-half months pregnant, with swollen feet and an aching back, the dutiful mother followed first the dog, then her son out into the cool sunlight. Isabelle sniffed around until she found the perfect spot, went about her business, took a dozen steps, and plunged right into the deep-end of our frigid, in-ground pool. Now, this dog has been “swimming” perhaps three times in her life. Once was an “experiment” after I had had a few cocktails. I was in the pool and she walked by on the pool deck and I scooped her up and put her in the pool gently to see if she would swim. All dogs do the “dog paddle” right? It is innate. I never really took my hands off of her, but it was apparent that this little dog was decidedly of the “non-swimming variety”. Her second “swim” was years earlier. It was more of a misstep while she was trying to step over a ballast that holds our pool cover down in the fall and winter. This resulted in a graceful slide into the stagnant water that sits on top of our pool cover. Probably more of a humiliation than perilous. This impromptu dunking however was terrifying.

 The pool was about two-thirds full and the garden hose had been running for hours trying to top it off. The “deep-end” of our pool is six-feet deep. The pool ladder had not yet been installed and the water was take-your-breath-away, cold Isabelle made no effort to swim and sank like the proverbial rock.

In the seconds that followed, Jenelle jumped up from the patio chair, covered the 50 feet in mere seconds and jumped into the pool. She scooped up the terrified wet dog with one hand, paddled herself over to the pool edge and struggled to set the wet shaking dog up onto the pool deck, which was over her head. Jenelle set Isabelle down onto the concrete and retreated to the shallow-end to use the stairs to get out of the pool gasping for breath.

As for me, curiosity eventually got the best of me, and I stopped my project and went in the backyard to learn what had just transpired. I saw a terrified, eight-pound, soaking wet dog, looking conspicuously like a wet rat. I saw an eight-month pregnant woman soaked from head-to-toe with blue lips. And one wound-up three-year old who, for unexplained reasons was running around in circles on the patio and braying like a horse.

And, I have never been more proud or grateful of my daughter in my life. Jenelle is a pre-school teacher for Anchor Bay Schools and she makes me proud of her dedication and loyalty to her profession. She is a wonderful mother to her son, and dear big-sister to my youngest daughter. But, I have never felt luckier to have her as my daughter than I did at that moment. She risked her own safety, she risked the safety of my unborn grandson and she saved my dog. My dog Isabelle is at the end of her life, we know this.

Each day we watch as her mobility diminishes, and her infirmities increase. We are aware that the day will come that we are going to have to make one of the most difficult decisions of our lives. I am really glad we have her for a little while longer.

 John F. Michalke