The Muse

image courtesy pixabay

It all began when the snoring stopped.  A couple of deep breaths later and his eyelids fluttered, then opened.  The light must have been too painful because Daddy closed his eyes right away and grumbled in protest.  I watched with anticipation as he tried again, this time with more success.  The expression on his face said that things were still a little blurry, but I could tell by the way he smiled that his vision was coming into focus.  I knew for a fact that he was seeing two big brown eyes.  My big brown eyes to be precise because we were nose to nose.

“Good morning, puppy dog,” he croaked on his way to kissing my snoot.

This was without a doubt my favorite time of day.  Getting that first kiss in the morning … well what could be a better way of starting the day than being kissed by someone you love who loves you back.  Am I right or what?”

Once I had my kiss, it was Daddy’s turn.  I unleashed a ton of super sloppy slurpy kisses all over his face.  Fifteen minutes worth.  After my tongue ran out of energy, I curled up and rested my head on his chest and listed to his heartbeat.

“Oh my gosh, it’s Tall Tale Tuesday,” he said, his voice kind of surprised that he would forget such a thing.

“What are we going to write about today my little muse?” he asked, his fingers found their way to the top of my head and the favoritest of my favorite places … right behind my ears.

“Hmmmm, I don’t know if I have a story to tell,” I said, smiling uncontrollably from the endorphin inducing scratching going on behind my floppy ears.

“Really?  I can’t believe it.  You have run out of stories?” he asked, his forehead scrunched up in disbelief.

I thought about his remark for a moment, then shook my head.

“Of course not.  I still have millions of stories to tell,” I said, sitting up to look into his eyes. 

“I just am not in the musing kind of mood,” I informed him, not at all feeling remorseful.

“Even muses need a day off,” I reminded him.

Daddy stared at the ceiling for a moment, not saying a word.  Just when I thought he had fallen asleep with his eyes open he sat up and gazed deep into my eyes. 

“Your right.  I will just put a note on the website letting your friends know that you are taking the day off from musing.  They will understand,” he said.

Well, this chocolate lab had some mixed feeling about that remark.  Of course, I didn’t want to let my friends down, but really, I was tired, and didn’t have it in me to muse.  Not even a little.

“Then it’s settled, no musing today,” Daddy said, collapsing back into bed. 

Me?  While of course I curled up next to him.

“Do you remember when you became my muse,” Daddy asked, his voice almost a whisper.

I recognized that voice.  It was his reminiscing voice.  I thought about the question, but only for a moment because the answer seemed like an easy one.

“I do, it was our first story … The Great Cookie Caper,” I said, looking proudly into his eyes.

“I guess technically, you are right,” he said adding a small laugh.

“Technically?” 

I had to ask the question because I was kind of confused.

“Well Cindee, if you want the truth, the answer is that It was the moment the door to Mommy’s office in Miami opened and I saw this little, tiny chocolate lab mix come trotting out.  You would take a couple of steps, hesitate, and try to turn and run back into the office.  You were so afraid.

“I remember,” I said, fondly recalling the moment.  I was terrified of everything.

“I looked at you and you were covered in small little circles of missing hair, with black marks in the middle and the rustling leaves made you pee yourself.  I saw all your scars, not just the ones on your body, but the ones in your spirit, and I just wanted to protect you and know your story.  That is the day you became my muse.”

My heart went pitter patter listening to him bring all those memories up.  I felt my eyes begin to tear up.  That’s when I looked at Daddy and saw his eyes were all misty too.

“I have a great idea,” I said, sitting up to get a better look at his face.

“Why don’t we write about how I became your muse,” I asked.

“I guess we can,” he said smiling.

I smiled back, because it is hard not to smile when someone you love smiles at you.

“But let’s just lay here and snuggle a little more first,” he said.

“That’s a good idea,” I answered, curling up next to him.

Author: H. Scott Moore

I am originally from Western New York, where I grew up enjoying the rhythm of life in the changing of seasons. I am an inquisitive animal lover who enjoys trying to experience and write about life from their point of view. When I am not writing the stories that are inspired by Cindee and her gang, I can be found exploring nature or reading a good book.

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