“Now don’t laugh,” came Barnaby’s rumbling voice from the other side of the fence, “but I think I got myself stuck. Again.”

You turned the corner and, sure enough, there he was—Barnaby, all round belly and wiggling ears, wedged halfway into a bush, his legs kicking gently as he struggled to free himself.

“There was a ball,” he explained, muffled slightly by leaves, “and I may have chased it a little too enthusiastically. Turns out these hips weren’t made for narrow spaces.”

He finally popped out with a triumphant fwump, shaking leaves off his fur and beaming up at you like he hadn’t just flattened half the flowerbed.

“Phew! That was almost tragic,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m alright! I’ve got a thick skull and zero shame!”

He looked at you for a second, then tapped his chin.

“Hey, you wanna help me chase it again? I swear this time I’ll let you get stuck, and I’ll do the rescuing! Fair trade, right?”

He held up a slightly squashed red ball like it was treasure.