Tax Day

Good afternoon everybody. This is The Daily Bone, and I’m your fiscally responsible doggie host, Chester L. W. Spaniel, chairman of the Squeaky Party.

Well, today is tax day. That means the humans should be finished with the complicated task of figuring out how much money they owe the government based on last year’s income. From what I’ve heard, tax day is almost as bad as the end of the world (again.) People stay up all night, scrambling to get the paperwork done, ruining their health from the stress of it all, drinking large amounts of caffeinated beverages, or just as much alcoholic ones, and then waiting in long lines at the Post Office in order to get all this mess mailed out to the IRS. Some people will have to pay the government more money, and some will get a refund, depending on a myriad of diabolically contrived factors.

My erudite associate Joseph (Joey dog) Spaniel is helping me with my squeaky toy inventory. He's in the corner doggie bed squeaky toy research area right now doing a squeaky toy appraisal.

I recently did an inventory of all my squeaky toys. I separated out all the ones I had obtained in 2013. Do I have to include the ones I received as gifts? For example, as you might remember, Professor Braydie Spiker passed away and bequeathed to me a whole box of wonderful, amazing, delightful, fascinating squeaky toys from her personal top secret paranormal squeaky toy research archives. My humans are holding most of them in a trust fund so that I don’t dissect, unstuff, and chew them all up at once. In fact, I don’t even know how many there are and what they’re worth. Perhaps I shouldn’t have even mentioned this. What if the IRS decides to audit me? Then there’s that box full of marvelous, fantastic, amusing, whimsical, and glorious squeaky toys Auntie Pat and her cat Tricky sent me about a year ago. There’s no way the IRS can prove I had them, is there? You know what? This is rather nerve wracking. 

Maybe I need to file for an extension.