We'll Be Fine As Long As They Don't Unionize

For almost 18 months, my wife and I have owned a house. It’s not our first home, but it is our first house. With a yard. In a neighborhood. Which means a good portion of the people running around the neighborhood are kids. Most of them seem like normal, well-rounded people. Only two have given me cause to be concerned about the future.

I recently learned about the ambition of one of the neighborhood kids – the 7-year-old girl across the street. Her name is Kate and she knocked on our door on a Wednesday evening and asked if she could walk our dog for some money. She needed to make some cash so she could save up for a violin or some shoes or a couple of other things (she hadn’t really decided on just one thing yet). Begrudgingly, I said “sure.”

I say begrudgingly because I didn't know how much would be appropriate to pay her. Or how often she would expect to receive payment for walking the dog. Or if this would impede my ability to pay the mortgage. Kids seem to make a lot more money these days for doing, well, nothing. I know parents who’ve given their kids shares of Google for losing their first baby tooth. When I lost my first baby tooth, the tooth fairy left me a pamphlet on how to avoid gingivitis.

So, to buy myself (pun intended) some time to figure out how to handle this, I told Kate to come back on Saturday to walk the dog. From her reaction, she must have thought there was a pretty decent chance I was going to say, “No, you can’t walk my dog” because she threw her hands in the air and ran back across the street cheering as if her school had permanently cancelled math class (you know how girls are with math). After she left, I decided I would have her walk Moose, the dog, up and down our street one time and for this I would pay her a hearty $5.

Moose doesn’t exactly mirror his namesake. He weighs somewhere between 8-9 lbs. and is whiter than the line at a Rush Limbaugh book signing. Given his size, Kate probably wouldn’t lose control of him, but he’d make her work at it, and being only 7 years old, there’s always the chance she’d ditch him for a bunny or a hamster (our neighborhood is overrun with stray hamsters). So, I wanted to keep the task short and simple.

She was at our doorstep by 9 a.m. on Saturday, eager and up to the task. I told her how far to take him and what she would earn upon their return. Her face lit up as she immediately imagined all the violins, violin cases, bows and lessons she could buy for $5. Unfortunately it had been raining all morning, so I asked her to come back later and walk Moose after the ground had dried; at least a few hours. Having taken everything she’s learned in school about telling time, Kate returned 20 minutes later. There was no delaying it.

Moose was eager too, either for a walk or for the meat he thought Kate had in her pockets, because he sprinted out the front door and leapt at her, scratching her leg in the process. Her enthusiasm went a little south after that. Moose’s scratch drew blood, she screamed, and my wife had to walk her back home. Surprisingly, while her enthusiasm was diminished, it wasn’t completely extinguished. Brigitte and I thought for sure the dog-walking experiment was over before it started, but through her sobs, Kate asked if she could walk Moose “a little later." Brigitte assured her that she didn’t have to walk him at all, but that violin wasn’t going to buy itself, and her mom said that Kate was also hoping to get over her fear of dogs (of course).

So after she went inside to get cleaned up, our whole family, plus Kate, took Moose for a walk. Brigitte held the leash and Kate held my four-year-old son’s hand, at his insistence (he’s got a thing for older women). Afterwards, I paid Kate $7. Part of it was to go toward a violin, part of it toward more band aids, and part of it was gratitude for not filing workman’s comp.

In case that sounds cheap, let me point out that I’d be happy to continue paying her, but she hasn’t come back. That’s ok, though. Either way, I have confidence in our future workforce.