The whimper became a cry and then instantly a howl...and it wasn't The Other White Dog's voice but YoYoMa's. I rushed through the doorway.
|Do the math, Big Boy!|
I tried backing YAWD out from his predicament but he cried out when I pulled. With my limited mobility I cannot get down on the floor but dragged the foot stool over next to him and stroked his side as I tried to calm him and see if I could bring him out by stretching him out and slowly working out his front legs then head. My poor boy was panicking and struggling at this point...and making things worse.
Of course, I was home alone. These things never happen when there are lots of resources to simply come and lift the sofa. White Dog and I puzzled out the situation. If I got the foot stool close to the side edge of the sofa, I could sit while using my upper body strength to lift the furniture, but what could we put under it then to hold it up so we did not risk hurting Yo?
While we thought, YoYoMa continued to tell us of his discomfort and unhappiness. White Dog paced and suddenly went to the front door and barked. It felt like a Lassie moment as i opened the door and she tugged at the recycle box where Steve had just the other day dumped the three copies of the yellow pages that had been left at the door ("Really, who uses these anymore?" was his comment). We were about to.
With phone books at the ready by the edge of the couch, I took a couple of deep breaths and looked at WD. Her look of confidence gave me strength and I reached down, grabbed the bottom edge, lifted, and at the same time pushed the stack of books under the edge with my foot. It raised the couch about 3"...enough for YoYoMa to escape.
But he didn't. He went deeper under the furniture until back legs and wagging tail were all that showed. I was yelling at him now, in frustration and anger. "WD and I just saved your life you ingrate! WHAT is it you want under there?" We could hear clawing at the edge of the carpet on the floor near the back wall.
Finally, he came out, just as I was seriously considering dragging him out by his tail. In his mouth was a dust bunny covered red fuzzy space ball that he had gotten for Christmas, played with until it rolled under the couch (weeks ago), and promptly forgot. He headed happily out to the yard.
White Dog and I were sitting together catching our breaths when Michael came home a bit later. He walked past us and sat on the still jacked up couch. It wasn't until after he got his coat and backpack off that he wrinkled his brow and said, "There's something funny about the couch today. Feels lopsided." White Dog rolled her eyes.