The Temptation of Missy

Lush

The weary man walked into his house; his sanctuary. Opening the refrigerator, he rummaged among the leftovers searching for the last, cold beer. Finding it, he gave a satisfied smile and ambled to the couch. He twisted the cap off and drank deeply. Licking the foam from his lips, he savored the crisp taste. The insistant ringing of the telephone intruded on his relaxation and enjoyment of his beverage. After taking another drink he reluctantly set the container on the endtable.
She had watched him with keen interest. Uncurling from her position on the floor, she snuck over to the couch and hopped up. Her wet, black nose lingered at the rim of the yeasty smelling liquid. Tendrils of temptation wafted out from the bottle opening. “Is anybody going to notice? It smells so good. Just a little taste,” she reasoned.
Convincing herself that just a tiny sampling on the tip of her tongue would be okay, she ventured toward the bottle. Her golden brown hair trembled in anticipation of the prize soon to come. Sniffing delicately, each nostril taking in the pungent aromas floating up from the amber liquid, she extended her long, red tongue. The level of the beer was barely out of reach. The flavors from the neck of the bottle teased her tongue. But that wasn’t good enough!
Losing her inhibitions, she gently nudged the bottle over the edge of the end table. It just happened to land on its side on the floor. Pleased with her success, she scurried over to the bottle and was rewarded with seeing the beer sloshing around on the side. She stretched her tongue down inside the bottle and carefully lapped up the brew. She even managed to pick up the bottle by gripping it in between her teeth. She awkwardly tilted it back like she had seen the people do. Liquid dribbled down the neck of the bottle, some making its way into her mouth, but most running into her beard. Just at the moment that she was truly beginning to enjoy herself and to feel the buzzing lightheadedness of alcohol, she heard the creak of footsteps behind her. She had been too engrossed in her exploration of man’s use of hops to hear their approach.
Daddy towered over her, glowering at her self-indulgence. She could see that he wasn’t very happy, quite angry in fact. Little did she know that he had had an extremely rough day and had been looking forward to this beer, the last one in the fridge, all day.
“Missy! What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.
She looked up at him with sincere puppy dog eyes, innocently wagged her tail, and drooled happily. She just didn’t care.