It's Monday morning, and we are snowed in big-time.

Philadelphia got something like two feet of snow since yesterday, with more on the way, so we're basically trapped. And did I mention that our cable box went kerflooey? No, it's not as bad as it could be -- thanks to our friends Robert and Lisa, who staggered through the storm for dinner last night, Adam figured out how to re-route the cable through the TV set, so we've at least got Fox. But come on, dog! No "Birth Day Live" on the Discovery channel! This isn't right.

And Wendell isn't doing well. We tried to let him out the back door. He sank. And it was only through a series of valiant seal-like hops through the snow that he was able to make it far enough to pee, then turn around and come right back inside.

Speaking of small dogs, did everyone see the article about terriers in yesterday's Times?

"The American Kennel Club recognizes 27 terrier breeds and officially describes them as "stubborn," "tenacious," "feisty," "independent" and "with boundless energy"....almost all terriers are high-maintenance dogs. They are not considered to be watchdogs, but one will sit in the window and warn you, loudly, of every incoming snowflake."

Yes sir, that's my Wendell! And he was a huge adjustment when he came into my life ten years ago. I'd grown up with bulldogs, which are pretty much the laziest, most easygoing, mellow breed you could find. And Wendell....well. He's small. He's anxious. He's occasionally barky. Youl would never call him mellow. Last night while we were eating he tried to make off with an entire wedge of Brie from the coffee table. And he has been known to bark at snowflakes -- not to mention the mailman, pedestrians, and other dogs who've had the temerity to walk past our window. But still I love him so. I just worry a little bit about what will happen when the Bun comes along. I mean, Wendell's been basically spoiled rotten for the last ten years -- cuddled and cosseted and given all manner of treats and scratches and special attention -- so what happens when a small, pre-verbal rival comes on the scene? One wonders. One also keeps hearing alarming stories about celebrities who had to give their small dogs away because they couldn't co-exist with the babies.

Anyhow....Adam tells me that the ER episode where Mark Greene dies in Hawaii is on, so I'm heading downstairs to make fun of it. Here's my friend Beth Gillin's article on the last group in America it's okay to hate -- no, it's not the fat, it's the French!

And, because we still have not 100 percent settled on anything, here's a website devoted to celebrity baby names. Lyric Chanel Bonin? Taylor Mayne Pearl Bonin? Homer James Jigme Bonin? Basil Bonin?