to the beat

Ollie trapped himself under the crib. It took an impressive amount of skill to wiggle through the small gap between crib and floor, a skill which he then forgot or lost or whatever happens to skills, and he couldn't wiggle his way back out. Realizing the severity of his predicament, Ollie started barking his most desperate bark and staring at me as if I would know what to do. The only thing I could think to do was laugh. So there we were, Ollie trying to squeeze his body through an obviously too small space, giving up, howling, and me laughing at his pathetic(ness? ism? icity?). Then, after about twenty minutes of being a terrible person, I made my best attempts to help him out. I didn't want to lift the crib, since Ivy was sleeping in it, so I tried coaxing him out. I failed. Repeatedly. It was only after I grabbed the bag of marshmallows that Ollie became excited enough to scramble out from his prison. And so I learned that my dog's will to eat a marshmallow is greater than his will to live a life free of confinement. I can relate.