Last night I was naughty. There was a television program about a murder (or was it a suicide?), in the UK, a parachutist's chute had been tampered with. I was bad, I sat up late, very late, watching it.
I fell into bed at almost 1am.
At about 6am I heard a plaintive "woof" from out the back. It was Floyd. I thought he must be hungry. It wasn't 7am yet, so I didn't have to get up. I rolled over.... twenty minutes later "woof", again. A sort of forlorn "woof", you know?
So I decided to see what was wrong.
Little "woofer" had managed to climb under the fence via the hole he'd dug and got his rope stuck on the pickets hanging down under the fence, so he was stuck on the wrong side of the fence, in the wet, wet grass. He was covered in wet dirt. I had to unhook him and then bring him around the fence.
Poor little sausage. I don't know how long he'd been like that. He's truly amazing. If he gets in a fix he doesn't panic, he'll just sit patiently and let you unhook/unentrap him and THEN he'll jump all over you for joy!
He did the same thing when he got his back leg stuck in the fence...