Hmmm. Now what?
Rosie is very good at entertaining herself. She scampers through the house, grabbing stuffed toys, bits of newspaper, sticks, and tennis balls, settles down and chews them a while, and then suddenly jumps up and races off as though she just realized she has a train to catch. Our job is to spy on her and see where she goes--make sure that she's entertaining herself safely. This is getting harder to do, as she gets bigger.
A few days ago, she could run up the first leg of stairs to the landing, where she would sit and whimper--the second, longer leg, was too steep and daunting. Not anymore. Yesterday, after some frantic calling and searching, I found her upstairs, underneath our bed, happily playing with enormous dust bunnies. Bad Rosie! Bad Rosie for showing what a terrible housekeeper Mommy is!!
We don't want her upstairs for a number of reasons. 1) Our shoes are up there, away from chewing jaws. (2) She is not yet housebroken and there are far too many places where she could hide and pee. (3) Riley needs a place to get away.
So now the stairs are baby-gated off, which frustrates Riley no end.
When we're on the front porch, she likes to worm her way between the couch and the wall, skitter along the back wall behind the couch, slither underneath the couch and then pop out the front, by our feet. She finds this hilarious and will do it again and again. That is, she found it hilarious, until this morning, when she got stuck. She has grown! This is no longer a good way to amuse herself.
Seriously--I cannot get out!
Twice today she has gotten stuck under there. The first time, Doug lifted the couch and I guided her out. The second time, Doug wasn't home. I lifted the couch, and she refused to come out. When I put my hand down to help her out (still hoisting the couch with my other hand), she went into Wolverine Mode. It was funny, but only because she didn't land a blow and because I didn't drop the couch on her head.
She stuck her head out, teeth flashing, growling and barking, and then disappeared back under the couch like a turtle pulling back into its shell.
I am not kidding! Help!
It was pretty funny--later, after my hands were safely away from her jaws and she was back in her crate.
Maybe under the table is better than under the couch.