The meaning of PANIC

I wake up every morning with Jack crying or calling my name. This morning was a wee bit different though.
To back up a tiny little bit, our A/C is out and the windows upstairs were all open for air. It's been very humid and it's getting pretty warm this week.
In the middle of the night Dorothy decided to crawl into bed with me to snuggle since John was gone and we woke up to hear Jack crying/screaming mad. Since my ankle is busted I had Dory go get him from their room so he could come crawl in the bed too.
However... even though the gate was locked, he was not there.
Uh oh.
I hobble out of the bed and whack my good foot on the bed bracket instantly bruising and ripping some skin off...
I glance around upstairs, but he's not here. I can still hear the crying.
I hobble down the stairs with my cane as quickly and safely as I can, trying to listen for the direction of his yells in between calling his name. As I came around the corner off the stairs I see the back door is WIDE OPEN.

Um.

Yeah.

Huh.

Ummmm...

I sat down on the ottoman to collect my panic and try to formulate a plan for chasing a toddler though the neighborhood at 6:30am while I have a busted ankle and am only half dressed... when I just call out to him.
He came waltzing through the door screaming mad.
As he collected his anger and I collected my nerves he stared telling me something about Abby. Abby was apparently outside. I called Abby and, just like Jack, she came waltzing in the door.

Jack had, apparently, decided Abby needed to be let out, hopped his gate, figured out the lock on the back door and let the dog out. He was crying mad because he couldn't work the latch on the dog's lead.

Geez. Way to wake your Mommy, Sir.