Playful pup, hand is feeling all around this gutter, but blue ball still hides. We need some tools. Perhaps, a handsaw and some butter?
Do not give up hope; turn that languid mood upside down. If we have no luck with the rescue operation, I will let you have at the piece I spent hours finessing to my crown.
Your focus is clearly on that which is, for the moment, out of reach. For me, sapidity lies within just your presence whereas, I understand, for you, it requires oral presents.
Okay, badger hound, my hand is covered in ick and even if I found your ball, I would not let you lick. Let us get you a new one; they come in a can. Do not be dramatic. The new ball will be no epigone. I am not the dog, but you need to throw me a bone. ; )