I had just finished working in the backyard. I went through the side gate, closed it behind me, and headed to the front porch. I needed to water the hanging baskets before the start of the predicted heatwave so I grabbed the hose and turned on the faucet. Just then the mail truck stopped in front of the house and the mailman climbed out with a package. I put down the hose and started around the porch railing to meet him halfway through the yard.
I hadn't taken more than a step or two when I saw my next-door neighbor, Karen (William's grandmother), walking across the grass leading a dog. MY dog.
"Where did you get that dog?" the mailman asked Karen.
"It's hers," said Karen.
"Oh my GOD. How did he get out?" I said, my mouth hanging open.
The mailman handed me my package. I took it and put it on the porch.
"I was on the phone with my mom," Karen was telling the mailman, "and the doorbell rang. So I got up and I saw Ray. I thought it was you," she turned to me as she said this, "but it was just Ray. So I told my mom, 'I'll talk to you later, there's a dog at the door.' She thinks I'm crazy now."
The mailman was laughing as he turned and headed back to his truck.
"Ray rang the doorbell," said Karen, "He probably wanted to come over and play with Max." (Max is their eensy beensy Bichon. He had followed Karen over and was sniffing around the yard.)
I took Ray by the collar.
"I have no idea how he got out," I said. "Thank you so much for catching him."
Karen was still marveling at the doorbell-ringing blind dog as I turned to let him in the front door. It was locked so Ray and I headed for the side gate. It was closed. I got to the gate and pulled it open.
"He must have gotten out this way." I yelled over to Karen. "The gate is closed but not completely latched!"
Which means that, in the three minutes that Ray was unsupervised, he had to KNOW that the gate wasn't latched, open it, and close it again, before trotting over to the neighbors to ring their doorbell.
My dog has superpowers.