The other evening, I got home before the Hubster and did him a favor by de-pooping the yard. After I opened the gate and deposited said poop in the garbage, I played with the dogs in the backyard for a while. A big dark cloud was gathering above head so I opted for some fetch and chase play rather than trying to squeeze in any walks before the rain hit.
After our play session, it was dinner time, the Hubster arrived home much to the joy of everyone and I settled downstairs in our den with a beer and the computer. A few minutes later I hear him call Hurley inside. Then I hear him stomp across the floor. Then I hear the front door open. Then I hear him call Hurley again. Shit! Hurley's not in the backyard! I run upstairs, confirm gate door was left open by me trying to do everyone a favor by de-pooping, grab a leash, some treats, my shoes and fly out the door. I yell to the Hubster "Go towards Lombard!" (the big busy everyone drives too fast on it road 1 block away from our house that I'm eternally terrified will be the death of my dogs should they ever get out) and start jogging in the opposite direction. My heart is racing a million miles a minute and all the terrible possible scenarios start sprinting through my head.
"I got him!" the Hubster yells in my direction within 30 seconds.
I return to the house to discover where Hurley ran off to: the opposite side of the gate at the side of the house where he sat patiently waiting for us to find him.
Note to self: Next time you think Hurley got out, check the front yard before tearing off to search the neighborhood.