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Polk felt like he was under a spell. He sat and observed the world around him without worrying, for once in his life. Underneath all of his affability was a surefire worrywart, forever concerned for the well-being of others, when truthfully he ought to look after himself a little bit more. Polk was a good dog, he knew that, everyone knew that, except for the ones with broken hearts who didn’t want to admit any dog was a good one. He wasn’t sure why he fate chose this morning to let his guard down, but it was. Anyone, really, could sneak up on him at this very moment and attempt to end his life—it was a harsh, dog-eat-dog world, out there, and in here. Polk just couldn’t find the will to care. Let them try, he would fight back. For now, he wanted to enjoy the world…was that so much to ask for? There were many things he lamented, the loss of lives over time, the deaths of the innocent and guileless, but what was there to do? There was protection within his pack. If they didn’t want to join him, there was little which he could do for them. He hated that, being caught by reality, honestly hated it. He could count on one paw the things he actually hated with a burning passion. Perhaps someone would join him in his reverie…perhaps they would try and break it…one way or another, it was a new day, a new morning, and a new shot at life. What would happen now?