Labor Day, D list style

Not being on the A list, I didn't make the cut for the Labor Day party at our friends' on Weston Road, so I had to go scrounge up a burger on my own.

I mean, my talent at sniffing out discarded goods is, I dare say, more valuable than that orca-scat sniffing dog that runs around the Pacific. You did see that Times piece, right? OK, he's saving the whales, I'm saving...a spot on the couch?

So it was a few days old, and lying in the woods. The burger, not the orca. No bun, but what did I care? Give me the meat, I say.

Mom said the same thing. I don't get it: she was at the party, she had a burger, with bun, right off the grill. What did she want with my find?

I'll never know. She opened my jaws, grabbed the burger, and tossed it further into the woods. It pains me that it will be eaten by some raccoon or something who won't know anything about sirloin, much less be properly informed about the significance of Labor Day. 

What kind of treats does that whale-sniffing dog earn, anyway?

I lie, faint from hunger, pondering the state of unions and
bemoaning the fate of the orcas.