We haven't had a serious escape attempt for ages. I wasn't too worried when I realised George had disappeared: there's a young labrador next door but one and George normally goes visiting there but I walked down the road, calling him, and there was no sign.
I came back and walked the other way: no George. Down the road again and I saw a police car had stopped at the end of our bit and a policeman was getting out. 'Oh no, he's arresting George!'
But he wasn't. He hadn't seen him either.
Back to the house to get the car keys to drive around the back streets. Nobody there had seen him either. Anxiety was beginning to gnaw at me and some urgent prayers were being directed heavenwards. As I drove past our house again I spotted George sitting happily in the doorway.
I have no idea where he'd been but we have since discovered what he was doing.
When Husband got up first thing this morning there were three - yes 3 - huge piles of sick on the kitchen floor. And it seemed to consist largely of sliced beetroot.