Goodbye, my friend...

Tax season is in full swing. That doesn't mean much to most folks, other than that they're reviewing their W2 statement, wondering how they spent their entire salary and have nothing to show for it. For those of us who work in the financial world, it means working long, thankless hours for months on end.

It also means that those closest to us get shuffled to the back of the deck.

Yesterday, Mr. Puffy Pants was in his kennel for 12 hours. This has been a regular thing for three months or so, and apparently, it finally got to him. He chewed a hole in his hind side about a quarter inch deep and as big around as a dime, and took the skin off all around it about three inches in diameter. This morning, he's refusing to eat.

I called my mother and told her what he did. "Well, Mo, he's bored. Why don't you bring him out here til things calm down at work?"

The problem, of course, is that things aren't going to calm down at work. We're short-staffed and mis-managed. There's no light at the end of this tunnel.

Jenny and her friend will be down this afternoon to pick him up and take him out to the farm. It's distressing that I'll be without him so long, but I can't bear to keep him locked up all the time. I'll miss him terribly - he's such a good dog. It really is the best thing for him. I just wish it were easier.