Oddly, that reminds me of the time that my Dad, Grandpa and I were sitting out on the front porch watching my pony graze and discussing how she'd go through any gate just to see what's on the other side.

One thing led to another and pretty soon Bitty Babe was in the living room looking around with an "Oh, so this is the stable the people live in" look on her face. All was well until Grandma came boiling out of the kitchen demanding that the horse be removed from her living room. (Humph! She was a Shetland pony; we could have brought in a Quarter Horse...)

It was only on the way out that the screen door broke...

Odd, how all all my family stories tend to end with "... and, boy, did {female relative} get mad!"