Remember "Lassie"? That collie was amazing, with her ability to understand what her humans needed in moments of peril and, even more, her ability to communicate it to other humans.

The other night, we could have used Lassie's digging prowess. Our 6-month-old cockapoo puppy, Rosie, loves to play in the snow. She also loves to crawl under the wooden ramps in front of our garage bays. The space under there must have seemed cavernous when she was a tiny pup of 8 or 9 weeks old. Now, she just fits.

It had snowed steadily all day, blanketing the yard with 6 inches or more. I let Rosie and Cushla, our German Shepherd, out to greet Maureen when she got back from a late-afternoon run to the market. They ran to the garage, said hello, then ran around in the yard a bit, enjoying the newly fallen snow. Dogs are like children in snow — with no responsibility for shoveling or driving in it, their relationship with the frozen white stuff is one of pure joy. And unlike some children, they don't even mind getting wet.

Maureen came in, slowly, with her bags, and Cushla came with her. Where was Rosie? We couldn't see her. It was around 4 o'clock — dusk, but not dark yet — and she was nowhere in sight.

I had been working at home and went off to my room to do some more work. A few minutes later, I heard a ping! from my phone. "Help me!" Maureen's text said. Frustrated by the interruption, I headed downstairs to see what was the matter.

Maureen was standing by the ramps into the garage, calling for Rosie. The pup had gone underneath one of them and apparently couldn't get out. I put on boots, winter coat, etc., grabbed a shovel from the mud room in case we needed it, and went out.

And, indeed, plaintive puppy cries were coming from under the ramp. We called her name over and over, trying to encourage Rosie to come out. I got down to look under the ramp, but part of the ramp was in my way, and I couldn't see.

How to help Rosie get out? We shoveled around the entrance to the area under the ramp. I even scooped snow out from between the two ramps. Still, the puppy cried, but didn't come out.

If you've ever heard a puppy or a kitten cry, you know the sound is almost impossible to ignore. Maybe it's the same frequency as a human baby's cry, I don't know. But hearing that cry, and knowing Rosie was stuck — or felt she was stuck — under that ramp, I was frantic to find a way to get her out of there.

I lay down on my stomach next to the outside edge of the ramp and looked underneath. Yea! I could see her, also lying on her belly, with snow in her beard. "Here, Rosie," I called. "Come on, baby, you can do it!" I called and called. She didn't move, though she looked like she wanted to. Or perhaps I was projecting.

Maureen went in and got a flashlight and some leftover bits of chicken we had saved for the dogs. I put the chicken down where I was lying, hoping to motivate the puppy to try to get to it. No luck. Possibly, given the cold, she wasn't close enough to be able to smell it.

I stood up — it gets cold lying on the ground in snow — and we called some more. For a while Rosie didn't respond, and our worry increased. Then she cried again. When I looked, she was now facing the other way.

I went to the space between the two ramps, at the opposite end of the one she was under. I scooped snow out from under the ramp as far in as I could reach. The angle was awkward because of the other ramp, the fact that my arms are short and the puffy winter jacket I was wearing.

Maurren got a long pole and tried to poke the puppy from the other end to get her to move toward me. Rosie disappeared from sight, moving out of the way of the pole. This dog was not cooperating with our efforts to rescue her!

I was finally able, with the flashlight, to see her again, tantalizingly close, but still too far to reach, given the awkward angle. I tossed a little piece of chicken towards her, and she scarfed it. When I moved the dish with the chicken toward her, she backed up. That was frustrating.

I kept talking to her, reassuring, cajoling, calling her to come. Using the chicken, I got her a little closer to me, and a couple of times she was almost close enough to grab and then backed up a little bit. My right hand was hurting from being not only uncovered, but exposed to the snow as I reached under the ramp.

Finally, I crawled my fingers under Rosie's chin, grabbing first her beard and then, finally — yes! — her collar, and hauled her out and wrapped her in a hug.

She put me in my place by lunging for the dish of chicken, which she gobbled in about a minute, and then I carried her inside.

Minutes later, she was sniffing around the kitchen, as if getting trapped under the garage ramp and making two adult women, neither of whom is exactly spry, spend half an hour working to get her out, was all in a day's play.

Puppies — ya gotta love 'em.