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Snow is falling, wind is chilling, and the small dogchildren are on their way to the doggy-day-spa for cutz and such. Derbz has brought me a squeaky pig a couple of times, but the novelty wore off for both of us after a few oinks. A subdued boy's day, apparently.

Stuck in this rewrite, drawing a seemingly insurmountable blank in one particular section, for some reason or other. Usual tactics of hurling improvisatory wordplay at it not helping – nor is staring at it, cursing it, or leaving it alone; it hates me and the feeling is mutual. What did I ever do to you? we say, in unison.

Squeaky pig doth squeak; the day awaits.