I swear Olivia pushes her toys under the heaviest piece of furniture in the house with the least access on purpose—then chuckles behind my back as I writhe on the floor on my stomach trying to fish them out.
Yesterday when I got up Olivia met me at the bedroom door and told me a sad story. With her usual cuteness and well-presented body language, even though I was barely awake, I began to understand that there was something under the dresser that she wanted. “Okay, Olivia, I’ll reach under there and kick it out.” When I reached under there bare-handed, though, I felt 
nothing. It’s one of those dressers with narrow access to what’s underneath, so I got a flashlight to see what I could see that I couldn’t touch.
“Yes, Olivia, five of your toys are under here and—oh my—two of your dried chicken treats.” (Note: She bats around her treats before attacking and eating them. We find them in closets, wrapped up in a pile of dirty clothes, and, of course, under the furniture out of paw’s reach.)
Well, as early as it was and as groggy as I was, I found the 18-inch ruler and made a few more swipes under the dresser yesterday morning and managed to retrieve the toys and the treats.
“You’re welcome, Olivia. I guess I needed that extra yoga workout before my coffee.”
