I have an odd curse that has followed me everywhere I live: doors break. The handles fall apart, the hinges stick, the wood warps, something in the relatively simple system that is the door fails.
For the past week, the door has stubbornly refused to close with anything less than a series of swift kicks. After a while I decided to investigate the point of failure and noticed the screws holding the plate in were warped beyond repair and sticking out, hitting the frame. I tried larger screws, nails, none of which worked.
While attempting to beat the plate deeper into the door with a cartoon hammer, Dagon decided to make a jailbreak. He jumped on the table and grabbed his leash — a retractable model with big rubber handle — and bolted outside.
He's brave as puppies come, but doesn't like to stray far from wherever I happen to be. About ten feet out, he stopped and looked back at me, leash in mouth, tail wagging.
It was the silliest escape attempt I've ever seen.