Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘income tax’

Taxed (More)

Admin looks terrible, all ink stained and surrounded by papers. “Can I deduct bourbon?”

“On what basis?” Spence says.

“Basis? There has to be a basis? How about toothpaste? I couldn’t function without toothpaste. Therefore I couldn’t work. Therefore toothpaste is a legitimate business expense.”

“Why not take a break?” Spence says. “Go for a nice walk.”

“Shoes? How about shoes? And if shoes, why not socks? Without socks I’d get blisters, rendering the shoes useless, and therefore … “

The Good Old Days

Uh-oh. Admin’s surrounded by piles of papers. He has ink on his face and is in a real bad mood. Must be tax time, whatever that is.

“Do you realize,” he says, must be to me, since no one else is around, “that before the 16th Amendment in 1913 there was no U.S. income tax, except for a brief period in the Civil War?” He throws up his hands. “Why couldn’t I have been born back then?”

A tough one. I’ve got no answers. On the floor I spot a sheet of paper with lots of writing on it. For no particular reason I pick it up and take it outside for burial.

Welcome Bernadette’s friend.

No Post Today (Revised)

Why not? Because the accountant is coming. The only accountant I know is Anya Vereen, but somehow I don’t think it’s going to be her, the reasons for that being in The Dog Who Knew Too Much. Bernie’s at his desk and papers are all over the place. Some flutter down on me. I gnaw on one or two. When Bernie gets uneasy it spreads to me pretty quick.

He looks down. “All that Civil War talk on the blog – did anyone mention we didn’t have income tax before the Civil War? And even then it was only 3% on income over $800. Now we’re on our way to what? Fifty percent? Sixty? Ninety-nine point nine?”

Can’t help him there. When it comes to numbers, I stop at two, which is plenty.

Welcome the great Wolfie Wigglebutt, Maddie, Moondoggie, beautiful golden, two ballplaying dudes, the first and only Kirby T. Penworthy.

And a very happy birthday to Melanie, and many many more.

Government Blues

Bernie’s in a bad mood today. That’s because Mr. Rentner called. Mr. Rentner’s our accountant. I don’t know what he does, exactly, besides putting Bernie in a bad mood. Right now Bernie’s at his desk and there are papers all over the place. I took one or two out into the hall and gnawed on them a bit. I don’t like seeing Bernie in a bad mood.

“Do you realize,” he says, “that there wasn’t any damn income tax until the Civil War?”

The Civil War? That was new. I go into the office, scarf up another sheet of paper, more of a scrap, really, take it into the hall. Oops. I’ve just started gnawing when all of a sudden here’s Bernie, looking right at me. But he doesn’t seem to see what I’m doing.

“The better angels of our nature,” he says. “That’s really something.”

I wag my tail; it seems like the right response at the time.