Today, some guys arrived to replace our broken oven. In order to prevent Slim from hassling them, I shut him in the bedroom. After a while, he started whining, so I went in to calm him down. He eventually started making his "I have to go to the bathroom" noises. So I opened the bedroom door to lead him out back, and he forced himself into the hallway, where he noticed that the front door was wide open.

He took off like a shot. I shouted after him, but he pelted out the door. The workmen, seeing a huge dog pounding down the driveway at them, leapt up into the truck bed — these were big guys, and they moved faster than I would have expected; they looked like women from a 1950s sitcom who'd just seen a mouse in their kitchen. Not that I blame them; being charged by a large dog you don't know isn't a fun experience.

So I scrambled after Slim — a losing proposition, to be sure; there's no way a mere human can catch up to a greyhound running at full tilt, but what else was I going to do? I poured on every ounce of speed I had when I saw a car coming down the street.

As it turned out, the car stopped, and Slim pulled up short next to the car, panting and wagging his tail at the driver (who reached through the window and petted him). I eventually arrived, thanked the driver, and grabbed Slim's head in both hands to lead him back home (not having had the foresight to grab his leash on the way out).

Now my legs feel like they're on fire, but I suppose all's well that ends well.