The Animal Kingdom

Marcus stood on his balcony at 3 AM, nursing a scotch that had gone watery with melted ice. Below, the city slept, but his mind raced with tomorrow's opening bell.

His golden retriever, Buster, nudged his hand with that wet, insistent nose—always hungry, always present. "You're the only one who doesn't want something from me," Marcus whispered, scratching behind the dog's ears. Buster had been his ex-wife's choice, a wedding gift from happier times. Now, in the divorce, Buster was the asset she hadn't fought for.

At forty-two, Marcus had mastered the art of the bull market: aggressive, confident, seemingly unstoppable. His trading floor exploits were legendary—risks that paid off, instincts that seemed supernatural. But the bear market of his personal life had been stalking him for years, hidden behind expensive suits and corner office views.

"They're calling it a correction," his boss had said earlier, eyes avoiding Marcus's as they discussed his position. The firm was downsizing. "Nothing personal. Just the market."

But Marcus knew better. He'd seen the bear in the numbers weeks ago—had even warned them. They'd ignored him, chasing the bull that had already left the pen. Now they needed a sacrifice, someone to blame for positions they'd approved.

Buster whined, pressing his warm flank against Marcus's leg. The dog had better instincts than any trader Marcus knew—sensed earthquakes before seismographs, mood shifts before they manifested. Maybe that was the real problem: humans were supposed to be smarter than animals, yet they kept making the same mistakes, expecting different results.

Inside, Marcus's phone lit up with an email from his ex-wife. She wanted to meet. Maybe she'd found someone else. Maybe she just wanted closure.

"Bear markets don't last forever," his father had told him during the crash of '08, before taking his own life. But some things did.

Marcus finished his drink, set the glass down on the balcony railing. Buster sat beside him, both of them watching the city lights flicker like dying stars.

"Come on, boy," Marcus said. "Tomorrow's another day to lose money."

Buster followed him inside, tail wagging, ready for whatever came next. That was the difference between them: the dog could still find joy in the simple promise of breakfast, while Marcus had forgotten how to hope for anything beyond survival.