So it’s been a couple of months since we came home to find a Boston terrier on our back porch. We hadn't seen around again. Well, until yesterday, that is. I was trying to get out the door to go and pick up Dr. Smooth from school. And as always, I was running a tad bit late. I was juggling my phone and his tennis racket and tennis shoes with one hand, and my purse and his lunch bag and a water bottle with the other. I managed to push the alarm set button on the keyfob with my thumb, and I opened the door with a couple of fingers of my left hand while juggling the stuff I was holding. Suddenly a blur of black and white blew past me and inside the house. I recognized him immediately as he headed for the kitchen. I dropped everything, running after him yelling, “No, Paul! No! Outside! Outside, Paul!” He completely ignored me, and I realize that could be because the dog’s name is not actually Paul. I clapped my hands; I stomped my feet; I yelled “Outside!”. But Paul was not having it. He was running around the kitchen with his tongue and tail both wagging. In the pantry – “Got any treats?” To the water bowl – “Woo, I’m thirsty!” To all three dog bowls – “Wow! I’m like Goldilocks with the three bears. But why is there no food in these bowls?” And to the sliding glass door – “I remember that pool! I hung out there one night!” Round and round and round the island we went, and Paul was always just a couple of steps ahead of me. I finally caught him and ran my finger through his collar to pull him to the door. He flopped over on his back and became absolute dead weight. He would not budge. I pulled him gently and he slid across the tiles on his back for a couple of seconds before the entire collar just slipped over his head, and then up and off he ran. Round and round and round the kitchen again. It was about that time that the alarm went off. I hadn’t thought to turn off the countdown when my departure got delayed. My dogs were already going nuts, freaked out by my yelling and the presence of another dog in their house. But when the alarm sounded, they really hyped up. Dexter howled louder than a wolfman on a clear full-moon night. If Paul was freaked out in the least by the alarm or the howling, he didn’t show it. He was back in the pantry, scouting for a treat. I caught him there, and got his collar back on, but then I had to sprint to the alarm panel to cancel the alarm before the security system called. When I came back, he was exploring the living room, and as he paused to sniff a pair of shoes by the door, I scooped him up and put him outside. Somehow as soon as his feet touched the ground, he was immediately headed back in. We wrestled over the threshold for a few seconds as he tried desperately to get his head in the door and I tried desperately to keep him outside. I finally got the door closed and stood inside staring through the glass at him. I wondered briefly if I was going to be able to leave the house, but in a move that reminded me of “Squirrel!” in the movie UP, he suddenly forgot he wanted in and took off running down the sidewalk. I really need to figure out which house Paul lives in (and his real name) so I could talk with his owners about keeping their dog safe. On a leash. Or in their yard. Or in their house. Or out of my house. Maybe we could arrange play dates and Paul could come visit, since he obviously enjoys it here!