A Dead Man's Best Friend

I woke up to a howling. It sounded like my dog, locked out in the back yard. It was my day off, so I did what I usually do.

“SHUT UP, YOU PIECE OF CRAP!” I shouted out my window, using my human authority of loud speech to quiet the beast. I laid back down, eager to get back to my dream of the bikini models on the beach. Just as I settled back into my chair and wrapped my lips around a fresh mojito, the howling started back up again. I was awake now, so I decided to thank my precious companion for that. Out of bed, through the bathroom, down the stairs I go. As I pass the TV, I notice the news, breaking now.

Zombies? Impossible.

I peek out into the back yard to see my dog. Well, it used to be my dog. He’s missing skin and an ear, and he’s really skinny. He’s playing with an arm, ripping fingers off and burying them in little holes. He looks over at me and snarls, lowering himself aggressively. I close the curtain and lean against the wall

It looks like I’m not getting back to sleep any time soon.

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