My dog is urgently sick, and my staff is here, and bookkeepers are sending proposals with sign on the line, and small print, and we aren’t in good shape right now with the bookkeeping. I am personally only on one edit right now, with a lull in that. But my staff is here, and clients are to be responded to. Clients who have deadlines, clients whose very lives and careers depend upon their writing whether for their degrees, for their promotions within the academic system, or their sense of coming into their own with their memoirs and novels, the works of years; theirs is no small effort. They have given their all. Each may ask a certain hand up along the way, but they are the scholars, authors, professors, and visionaries. How can I let them down; how can I let anyone down. How can I let down my dog, as she is young, and she is my refuge in this cruel world, and I am the one who is to save her from whatever is going on inside her, unfairly eating away at the organs that digest? We have been through this twice in two months. Done this 2 times and she is alright each round. We love her. We are co-dependent with her. She gets from us less than she gives, and she gets from us all we possibly have to give—all we’re unable to give to each other because of underlying reasons, all of the love we wish we could express more broadly. We know that her eyes get dry in the mornings, and behind her ears, bulky clods of hair (I use my nail scissor to clear and discard from time to time) make my scratching there ease the terrible itch, the itch to live and the itch to dance in the fields, and bite at the heels of sheep, and wreak havoc upon the intrusion of would-be strangers, protecting the household and practically jumping up and down as her voice alone causes them to back up a few steps into some set of shoes unevenly stacked just to one side of the front door, and sometimes just to exit. What should I do. This is my company, CambridgeEditors after all; a former Managing Editor calls her my “love child.” Who, among my charges, should come first in my affections, my attentions, my wish to grant salvation and be the who I think of myself as, really down deep, the person not enough intimates really get to know. Are we beings or writers (editors) first?