Then it occurs to me that George has been outside a long time. Regular readers won't need telling what's happened: some things are as inevitable as finishing a box of Cadbury's Fingers in one go. Yes, he'd done a runner.
I leap into Minni and drive around to the adventure playground where I meet an early-rising friend. She hasn't seen George so I carry on patrolling his favourite routes. I see no sign of him - but I do scrape the side of Minni while looking for him rather than where I was going.
I get home and Husband tells me we've had a phone call: George is in a house in the road behind. I grab his lead and hurry off there.
When I arrive I see George looking out of the window quite unconcerned by his abduction. The couple tell me they spotted him walking towards the main road but they were able to catch him when he stopped to eat the contents of a rubbish bin. Since being in their house he has eaten 3 bowlfuls of their dogs' food.
And I assume it's for this reason that one of their dogs, who is standing behind me barking, decides to bite my bottom.
It seems churlish to complain when they've been so kind as to rescue George so I continue smiling, thanking and apologising in equal measures, before dragging George home.
And it's still only 8.15.