The Great Escape?

This week, my house has apparently transformed into a POW camp.

Oliver has had problems off-and-on in his eight years with having accidents. I got tired of having to clean my nice carpet in my new house last year, so I reverted to putting him in his crate while I'm at work. I feel badly... I'd love to give him the roam of the house while I'm gone, but it ends up "damp"ening my day when I do that, so now he gets to spend 9 hours in his "house."

Here's where the crate normally sits. It's in the corner of the dining room that adjoins to the kitchen. This shot is from the garage door into the dining room. Notice that, in front of my shoes, there's a piece of floor that covers the part where the rooms meet.

Yesterday, I got home from work and, to my great surprise, the crate was here.

(I had to recreate this shot since I didn't get a picture of the scene when I came upon it. The black tray at the bottom of the crate was about two feet back toward me. Oliver was still inside the crate, gate still locked. There was water all over the floor; I think he had peed, but I'm still not sure that's what the water was since it didn't look or smell like pee.)

I didn't even scold him because I was so shocked. I thought dogs chilled out in old age instead of hatching complicated escape plans?

Today, I came home to another surprise. I took pictures as I discovered the evidence this time, so these are actual crime scene photos.

The tray was back where it was yesterday.

Where's Oliver though? No dog crate, or crated dog, for that matter, in front of the garage door this time.

I walked into the kitchen and around a half wall that helps form the entrance into the living room.

Busted.

I'd tell you his eyes are glowing from the flash of my camera, but I'm not entirely convinced my dog isn't possessed.

So here's what I think is happening. There's a small slat where you can pull the black tray out to wash it. I had secured that the other day, but there's an even smaller slat right above it. In theory, the tray should not be able to get through that slat, especially with an 18 pound dog standing on it, but I think that's what happens. He must scoot it out, then stand behind it and nudge it on out with his head? I'm really guessing at this, and I admittedly feel a bit humbled that my dog has not once, but twice, pulled a fast one on me. Then, I think he walks around the room inside the crate, but he's able to do it because his paws are directly on the floor again, and he uses his head to help push the crate around. The thing is, remember that piece of floor that connects the two rooms? He must have found a way to get the crate up and over it.

I decided to try to fashion a way to block that smaller slat with an old neck lanyard. Here's my handiwork:

I'll let you know if it works.

Bottom line, here's a countdown of my thoughts about this whole situation:

5) I'm feeling a little reverent of Oliver and his apparent power. I wonder if he's a member of the same elite animal spy organization as Perry the Platypus?

4) I'm surprised that, after all these months in the crate and all these years being alive, Oliver had decided that THIS is the season to make his move. What's changed? Do he and I need to have a DTR?

3) I'm glad that Oliver has found a way to keep his mental gears turning. Humans are supposed to do crossword puzzles and Sudoku to prevent senility and loss of brain function as we age; my dog crafts elaborate escape routes to reach the glory of his food bowl or the lavishness of the living room.

2) I'm amazed at the ingenuity he's shown. He gets the tray out, away, and he lives to wag his tail about it. In fact, I sort of think he's mocking me...

1) Most of all, though, I'm bewildered - - - a creature as persistent, able-bodied, and creative as this hasn't figured out that the wonderful freedom he so clearly craves can be his if he could just hold it?!?!?