Dude.

I had my workout clothes on. Hair was in a ponytail, shoes were tied, and my it's-not-a-fanny-pack-darn-it belt was fastened. The sun was setting; leaving just enough light the way for our evening walk, but not so much that walking would feel torturously hot.

Aaron was addressing the Billsner; his tone a mix of cheerful and increasing simplicity: "Are you ready to go for a walk? Go for a walk? Go walk? Walk?" Billy just sat there, staring at him. "Whaaaaat?"

I started filling my kangaroo pouch: glucose tabs, lip balm, plastic bag (responsible dog owner, I am!), and instinctively reached towards the kitchen counter where my trusty Dexcom receiver usually resides. Except it wasn't there. "What? Where...", I trailed off. I wondered where on earth I could have left it, as I knew I last had it when I...

...oh, crap. The last time I remembered holding it was outside. When I had taken Billy out in the backyard. Which was a couple of hours ago. In the sweltering heat.

Noooooo...

I recalled placing it on the bottom of the stairs from our deck, as I needed both hands to be in full-on Dog Handling Mode. So outside I scurried, wondering how I could have gone over TWO HOURS without noticing its absence. (Because obviously my speed at that moment was going to be what would save my Dexcom.)

I stood at the top of our deck, and looked down. Whew.

I was glad it was still there, but I was even more glad that it appeared to be both untouched and unharmed.

When I reached it, I clicked the "OK" button, to see just how long it had been out there - by seeing how much data I had missed.

Which gave me an even bigger surprise.

It had taken intermittent readings. THROUGH THE HOUSE.

As in, this far:

Remind me to never again complain about the range of the Dexcom. Ever.