It is every parent’s worst nightmare. You look or step away only briefly and suddenly your child is gone.

My son, Brock, was three at the time. It was a hot summer day and I had been watering the grass for most of the morning since we have a large yard sans an automatic sprinkler system. It was early afternoon when I realized I needed to turn the water off before getting him down for a nap. Intending to keep my mischievous toddler occupied and out of trouble while I briefly went outside one last time, I got him situated with a snack at the kitchen table.  I went out, turned off the hoses and within minutes came back in fully anticipating a big mess and a little boy to be right there waiting for me.  Yet upon my return to the kitchen the mess was the only party present.  A little surprised, although certainly not alarmed, I initially walked from room to room calling his name. No answer. I went upstairs and repeated the same. Still no answer. Puzzled, I raised my voice and began a more thorough search. He was no where to be found. Apparently the little stinker had slipped out the back door while I was out front.

My level of concern heightened–as did my heart rate–as I ran outside to search our yard, the garage, and the wooded area adjacent our house.  The neighborhood was dreadfully quiet since everyone was retreating indoors due to the current heat wave.  Therefore, Brock’s presence in the immediate vicinity would have been conspicuous.  It was clear that he was neither within sight nor ear shot. My mind began racing, fathoming any and all directions in which he could have wandered. Aside from a road where traffic flies by at 50+ mph, our neighborhood is flanked by several acres of private land brimming with creeks and wildlife.

My search was getting more frantic when a neighbor appeared whom I enlisted to help keep an eye out for him.  I then thought of two nearby homes he might have wandered to, so I immediately proceeded to option #1.  Nobody home.  On to the second possibility.  They had not seen him but offered to help in the search.  As we were hollering for Brock and discussing where he may have gone, it became increasingly difficult not to let the growing knot in my stomach get the best of me.  So with about 15 minutes of elapsed time since he had gone missing–and having two additional adults also unsuccessful in finding him thus far–all evidence suggested he was not within the boundaries of which I could assume he was safe.  I was no longer able to fight off the worry and began pondering all the things he could be encountering without anyone there to protect him.   Just as I was on the brink of going into panic mode and making the dreaded call to authorities, a light bulb went off.

I immediately thought of Pavlov’s theory.

Just as Pavlov’s dog repeated a conditioned response to the sound of a bell, so does my son.  Only in this case it’s the doorbell, and instead of salivating at the sound of it, it is the act of racing to the door to ensure he reaps the glory of being the first to discover who is on the other side.  His response is so immediate it’s apparent that this stimulus triggers an automatic reaction:  doorbell = run.  If, by chance, he was in the house, this would surely lure him out if hiding.

I went to our front porch, rang the bell and held my breath.  Within seconds I heard the eager pitter-patter of little bare feet on hardwood floors getting closer and closer until he swung the front door open.  Flabbergasted, I cried out, “where have you been??  I have been looking EVERYWHERE for you!”

He looked up at me, shrugged his shoulders, and quickly retorted, “well, you didn’t look under your covers!”