[ WP ] you are the golden retriever of an upper middle class family . Your life was bliss , until the zombie apocalypse happened .

Life is like a ball. Not the ball where you are round and made of chewy yellow fabric. Or the ball that is brown and pointy. Or the ball that is full of squeaks. Life is like the perfect red ball. The one attached to the music, and the people dancing, and the lights swaying with the music and the people who are dancing. 
 
 What I'm trying to say is that life is circular, and when you move in circles long enough you just... start feeling like you're stuck in the same place every time you look around. Nothing changes. You get used to the idea of being in this same spot, moving your feet and going nowhere. 
 
 Life is... what you make of it. Supposedly it's what you make of it. I do n't know if I believe that anymore. 
 
 When the people stopped being people, when the television stopped running ads, and when the balls stopped being thrown life changed in every way possible, and I realized that it was just the same that it had always been. 
 
 Bob and Samantha smell now, and they do n't say good boy to me anymore. They just stand in front of the glass door and stare. I do n't think they even see me anymore, when I go inside the small door they do n't play chase. They just stand and they stare and they drip on the floor. They loved that floor once, a long time ago. 
 
 The other dogs know what's going on, I think. But I have n't seen them in a while. They moved on, started making life in their own way. I could have gone with them, but I did n't. I stayed here, hoping against hope that my friends would return. And they did n't. The thing is, now it does n't really matter if they do. It's not like we ever really talked, or spent time together when it was n't convenient for them. Sure, I do n't regret staying behind. I had hopes, dreams. Bellyrubs and back scratches, someone to tell me goodboy and tuck me in at night. I'd even be happy to be yelled at right now, just to hear the sound of their voices. 
 
 But I know it wo n't happen, I've been paying attention. They're gone now, that bone is gone and I just... wonder if I wasted my life trying to find it. I know every dog has their day, but nobody tells you what to do after that day is over. There's nobody, dog or man alike, to tell you what to do after you realize you're settling into mediocrity. 
 
 The truth is, I'm comfortable in this rotting house with this rotting family and I do n't want to leave. Change, now, after all this time would just hurt me. I'd find out that I could n't make it in the world. Right now, right here, I have dog food and a bed, and two people who might have loved me once. 
 
 And it's worth it, just in case that love is still there. Right? 
 
 I lied earlier. I could still find them, the other dogs. I hear them sometimes, not too far away. The invitation is always open. 
 
 But I'm comfortable here, even if I'm not happy necessarily. 
 
 There's never going to be another ball to catch, I'm here in this human ball, this dance. This circle. I made myself who I am, and chose my decisions based on what felt right at the time. 
 
 I'm a dog, that's what I do. 
 
 But I still listen to the others bark, and I wonder as I fall asleep if I'm wrong. 
 
 I wonder if happiness is really out there, and if I ever had a chance to find it.
