I am ensconced on my comfy couch with my snoring pal, Percy pug. He's in his favorite position: nestled in the V made by my legs as I lay sidelong, his little head propped up on my knee. Ever so often, he'll glance over at me with one bulging, molasses-brown eye, just looking, just checking, and I like to give him a loving pat. For such a fine life, this little dog sure can seem anxious at times. Perhaps he thinks we'll bring another child home, or put him in his dog diaper again. Who knows?! Tom thinks I attribute too much in the way of brains to Percy. I'm not sure about that either. What I do know is that he is like a furry, loving hot water bottle who's great to cuddle with at the end of the day. And I am just darn thrilled to be slug-like next to him reading the Sunday Times. I am really quite sad to say that I had cereal for dinner tonight. An assortment of cinnamony flakes was the only thing that sounded remotely palatable.