This time of year is hard on us. The shotguns are cleaned and put away. The duck season never really got off the ground. Rocket doesn't think much of ski towns. Henderson chases snow machines so snow-shoeing is out. Rocket breaks free from time to time to troll for scraps: English muffins, the rinds of long-gone pumpkins, eggshells people have tossed out for compost. Yesterday he was ensnared in a web of Christmas what-nots. He didn't struggle as much as I would have. I freed him and he trotted into the alleys where the wind had knocked over trash cans. I can't wait for Tax Season.