Did I mention that 8.15 yesterday morning found me out the front with hammer nails and fixing a fence? No? Well, it did. And a good job I made of it too.
That added to all the extra mesh Husband put up at the weekend has turned our garden into a Colditz. For the time being at least. Until George eats another piece of fence or digs his way out under one.
So, I've been feeling quite confident that George is safe in the garden and wasn't leaping up every 2 minutes to check that he was still there. You know what's coming next, don't you?
Some idiot left the gate open.
I wandered down our bit of road looking and shouting to no avail. He'd probably been out for some time so I was getting a little anxious when I noticed workmen at the back of the terrier's house (I think the terrier and his owners are only there at weekends). I waved the lead at them to indicate I was looking for a dog (there was a lot of noise going on) and they signalled me that he was there.
'He's been here for ages,' they said. 'He's fine, just sitting out here with us. He's eaten Martin's yogurt; he's having a good time.'
They thought George was with the electrician, who was working inside; they thought he'd let him out of his car for some fresh air. 'He can stay here,' they said. 'He's quite happy.'
It was tempting ... but I dragged him back home - or to prison, as he calls it.