The one-bar cage

Babess and I visited her Dad at work today.  She loves it there – the people all adore her (especially the younger men, at whom she makes eyes and coos) – and there is so much to explore and test to destruction.  Today a mobile whiteboard was parked by Dad’s desk.  She crawled over to it, and under the bottom bar to get to the other side.  Then she stood up, using the bar as a handhold.  It was about waist-high on her.  And she was stuck.

She didn’t realise it for a little while: she was too busy talking to us and telling us how clever she was.  But soon enough, she wanted to move away, and she couldn’t figure out how.  She knew she couldn’t get over the waist-high bar, although she considered giving it a go.  And she couldn’t quite duck under it, because she doesn’t have the balance or coordination for that yet.  She either didn’t remember how she got there in the first place, or had decided not to crawl out for some reason.  She wanted to do it standing up.

She spent a good couple of minutes bobbing and ducking as she tried to find a way out, to the increasing amusement of the office inhabitants.  Eventually, she gave a frustrated squawk, and was rescued by her Dad.

That’s what Dads are for.  Even if they do tease you for getting stuck in a one-bar cage.

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