Working Class

When I was younger, life was carefree. I would get up in the middle of the night, run around like a maddog, wrestle my sisters, sleep, get up in the morning and eat and then run around like a maddog, etc, etc. As I grew a little older I learned the joys of sleeping in, and then taking a more casual stroll to enjoy the morning air before reading the morning newspaper (to be specific, the comics).

But at some point, mom and I were assigned household chores.

That’s right, chores. And it doesn’t seem quite fair, either. All that mom has to do is watch the guinea pigs… play with them is more like it. She doesn’t teach them any valuable life skills such as, you know, knitting or cooking or whatever else moms are supposed to teach you. She just lays there and lets them crawl all over her, as if life were one big play date.

But me on the other hand… I’m forced to help out with all the real work that’s going on around here. The male and female owners have been busy with house work lately, and guess who has to supervise? That’s right, me. One night it was perfectly beautiful weather for a walk but guess where I had to be? That’s right, slaving away. Aren't we supposed to hire working dogs for this kind of thing?

Fortunately, as in the days of Lewis Hine (my male owner's favorite photographer of the past), some pictures are being taken of this abusive underage worker exploitation...




To be honest, I am somewhat proud of my work. But that doesn't change the principle!

And allowance? Well, mom’s been getting extra food for her so-called “work,” while I feel like I’m still making “minimum wage.”

I tell you, this economy is hurting everybody. Everybody and his dog!