My beagle died at the end of February. His name was Ricky, and I'd had him for eleven years. He died a terrible death, poisoned by his own dog food. That same month, my basset hound, Toast, acquired a spinal disease that left his hindquarters paralyzed. Now he has been reduced to dragging himself along the tiled floors of my home, helplessly spraying urine everywhere he goes. A week later, the best boss I'd ever had packed up and moved to New York, and then my band broke up for no good reason at all. On March 30, I went with my friend... More >>>