Bear woke me about three oclock this morning. Usually, she sleeps at the foot of our bed on a comfortable dog mattress. She is not normally a restless sleeper, but she usually gets up once or twice to walk around our bedroom or sniff the air coming in from the opened porch door. I can interpret her needs by the rhythm of the clicking of her nails on the hardwood floor. This morning, however, she was making different noises. Scrambling sounds, as if she were in distress. I listened in the dark to her sounds, sorting out my wife's breathing and Bear's breathy breathing and intermittent scrambling shuffle. After a few minutes, I decided something was wrong. I got out of bed and looked for her. I didn't turn on the bedroom overhead light, because I didn't want to wake my wife. I could not make out her large labrador figure sprawled on the floor by the porch door or on the small carpet by my wife's side of the bed. But she seemed to be somewhere in the room. Then it occurred to me to look under the bed. I got on my hands and knees and looked, but I couldn't see her. Of course, she is a black lab and would be difficult to discern in the room lighted only by soft, ambient, urban light reflected off the marine cloud layer into the room. So I reached under the bed feeling for her. And touched a paw. She was under the bed. But unlikely so. The bed frame is only eight inches off the floor. Bear would have had to crawled on her belly, legs splayed outside her body, rather than under her, to get under the frame and mattress. That shuffling sound must have woke me. How to get her out? I assumed she wanted to get out. I went around to the foot of the bed and moved the dog bed aside. Her head poked out at me from under the frame, her muzzle open, tongue out, happily panting. I reached in and gentled pulled on her front legs. She began to push with her hind legs. She shimmied her long body out, pulling her front legs under her and lifting herself up when her front was clear of the frame. Then her rear creeped out. Once free of the bed, she did a little labrador dance, jigging around in a circle, bobbing up and down, happily panting. If she had intentionally crawled under the bed for some reason, she clearly did not want to be there once arrived. She had been trapped. I wondered if she had been frightened, when she realized she might not be able to crawl out. My heart slowed in empathy for her plight and fear she felt. But now any fear was behind her. She was freed from her trap. She had risen from the bed.