I have been accused of being “sizeist,” of having a “thing” against small dogs. All the dogs I’ve shared time with have been Dire Wolf size: German shepherds, Bernese Mountain dogs and one Collie.

I finally admitted this bias to my family. But that was not enough for my ruthless and politically correct daughters.

All the women in my life are tough and would gleefully run “re-education” camps for any of the political issues they adhere too, including loving all dogs, regardless of breed. Yes, they also call me a “breedist” because of one snarky remark I made about Chihuahuas.

“Dad,” eldest daughter opined one day recently, “It’s time for you to man up and deal with your prejudice. I’m bringing Tallulah over for the weekend. You are going to dog–sit.”

Tallulah was my daughter Brynne’s adopted dog, a tiny, ten-pound Shih Tzu- Japanese Chin.

“Um, I think that’s a bad idea,” I replied. I was a “Big Dog” guy. I was a Manchester United, Minnesota Vikings fan.

Brynne knew what I was thinking, “Oh, quit it. You also love Broadway! And you are dog sitting.”

She paused and then said the words that always make me nervous, “It will be good for you!”

Fathers of daughters, join me in explaining to the world how terrifying those words are when they come from the women you’ve raised.

But resistance was futile.

This then is my journal of my first weekend with a dog so small she could sleep in my briefcase.

Friday, 9:47 a.m. “Tallulah” arrived. She was a little ball of white fluff, with dark eyes. I steeled myself, not wanting to get drawn in . . . She rolled over on her back, clearly confident that I was an easy mark.

Brynne looked at me, “See Dad! She likes you!”

I could only think, “She’s so small!”

11:00 a.m. Brynne departed.

After a few minutes of clawing at the door and tiny whining, Tallulah walked back into our kitchen. A word about her “clawing.” Over the years, our big dogs have nearly clawed through doors. They have charged through window screens, windows, ripped down wallpaper, eaten a couch, knocked over my mom and attacked uniformed drivers (that was decades ago, but still). So Tallulah’s’ attempts at scratching were kind of a relief.

1:00 p.m. I began to worry Tallulah might be lonely. No. I was not getting “Attached.” Please, I was just being a thoughtful host.

I sat down on the floor and watched her play with our dog toys, all of which were bigger then she is. As Tallulah disappeared underneath a stuffed rabbit, Tank and Nellie, our Bernese Mountain dogs watched with disgust. “What is the point,” I’m sure they were thinking, “of having toys you can’t destroy as soon as the humans bring them home?”

4:00 p.m. All the dogs fell asleep.

Our big guys were splayed across the floor, not a care in the world. Tallulah had strategically found a place underneath a stool to sleep. You never know when clumsy humans or slightly jealous Berners might step on you. Hmmm, I thought — smart move.

5:30 p.m. After the rain, we took all three dogs for a walk.

Our dogs galumphed along, eyes down, looking for rabbits. All of a sudden, I found myself scanning the sky, looking for hawks. It had just occurred to me that Tallulah was the perfect hawk-size treat. I decided to stay very close, which was hard because Tallulah spent the entire mile sprinting back and forth. Although we only went a mile, in Tallulah land, it was a marathon of running! Amazingly high rpm! I was exhausted.

7:00 p.m. All dogs conked out.

10:30 p.m. My “lap dog” jumped up on the couch. 130 pounds of snoring up-side-down Berner, head on my lap. Tallulah jumped up and sat on the last foot of the couch, looking at me. Kinda cute, I thought. I again caught myself, “don’t get sucked in!”

But then Tank began his maniacal barking, indicating that the imaginary intruder was back. All three dogs begin barking at the wall. Pretty funny, two huge Berners and one tiny white ball of fur. “Woof! Woof! And “yip! yip!”

1210 a.m. Tallulah curled up on the bed with Sully, daughter number two. I wondered, why doesn’t she sleep on our bed? I suppressed that thought.

The next morning I took Tallulah outside on a tiny patch of actual grass. She immediately began rolling around and then examining blades of grass. This seems the essence of smallness.

Our dogs crash through fields, only their tails visible as they flush birds, rabbits and the occasional coyote. With Tallulah, we laid in the grass exploring grass: the stems, tillers and the vertical lines on the blades. The small dog’s world.

4:00 p.m. I ran out to go on a fire department assignment.

When I came back, Tallulah was gone! Brynne had picked her up. Not a good bye! Not a “See you soon!” Okay, I felt a little devastated. I had thought about buying her some small toys . . .

9:00 p.m. I couldn’t stand it. I threw on a pair of jeans and an old “wife beater” t-shirt. I drove across town to Brynne’s house.

I got out of the car and started yelling, “Tallulah!!!!!!”

Okay, this last scene is from “A Street Car Named Desire.” But that’s how I felt.

I wonder if she missed me?