Yesterday afternoon while I was chatting with my friend in her living room, Chuck somehow managed to get himself stuck underneath her couch. I had put him in a down-stay, a command that is supposed to keep him in a still, prostrate position on the floor so that he doesn't go wandering where little dogs are not supposed to go, mainly into the bedrooms of my friend's children to lick their napping faces.

Over the several months that he has understood this command he has skillfully mastered what we call the "army crawl," wherein he keeps his belly on the ground, very much in a "down" position, and crawls ever so slowly several feet from the origin of the command. He does this so slowly that sometimes, all of a sudden, we realize he's in the other room, still on his belly inching stealthily toward a crumb to nibble or a foot to lick or, more often than not, a benign spot on the floor he thinks will come to life if he presses his wet, goobery nose as hard as he can into the hardwood.

While in this down-stay position yesterday he army crawled underneath the couch without realizing that he would have to come out exactly the way he went in, and when I stood up to leave he also tried to stand up and leave. The whole couch quaked with the force of his back, and for the next several minutes he struggled frantically to free himself from this trap. It sounded like an angry raccoon stumbling drunkenly through an attic filled with junk, and occasionally we'd see his nose or a paw peek out in a forlorn cry for help.

Unfortunately we were too busy laughing and taking pictures to come to his rescue. I should totally be arrested for this.

My friend, Beth, took the pictures while I wiped tears from my eyes from laughing so hard.