Carol Perkins Talks About

As the day ends, Fluffy is posted beside me as I write.  He, the little dog that he is, feels the need to watch over me.  Today he has been bothered by a cat on the back porch, two cars passing the house, a pup howling in the distance, the washer getting one-sided in the spin cycle, and food he wants to eat from my hands.  He sleeps when I sleep and roams when I roam.  He expects Guy to feed him at six and for me to get up at seven.  I am a prisoner to my Maltese.