Once upon a time, as a young buck street cop, in the Eighties, I was chasing a bad guy, on foot. The bad guy ran toward an occupied home, and ran right through a glass door, without sustaining any significant cuts, and proceeded into the interior of the house. He was nice enough to make an opening plenty big enough to me to follow, without cutting myself, so I stayed right on his heels, for the capture.
So, these days, when my retired, slower, feebler self is at home, I am fully aware that a defensive weapon must be on or about my person. If is is several feet away, I know that an intruder might end up closer to that firearm, than I am. Even if the intruder does not realize that the weapon is there, his presence could represent a denial of access. Our dogs are wonderful sentinels, but a bad guy who dives through one of our windows, or french doors, may be well inside the house, faster than I can move toward a weapon.