Artists often speak of muses as fleeting sparks of inspiration. But sometimes, a muse arrives not to ignite a single idea, but to light up the entire path forward. During a year that demanded so much from my spirit, my muse had four paws, a wet nose, and waited for me with unwavering patience in a hallway. He was my anchor, my quiet companion through the difficult days, reminding me that the most profound art is often born from the simple, steadfast act of showing up.
There was a dog named Bebe who lived in the hallway of my property management office. After his previous caregiver left, I made the choice to step in. To make sure he was loved, safe, and eventually, to find him a family who could. For one year, he became the most sacred part of my routine.
My world would stop for him every morning and every night. Through rain and winter, our walks were my anchor. In return for food and care, he gave me a quiet kind of love I didn’t know I needed. We healed each other without ever saying a word.
The day finally came to let him go. I did it not because I wanted to, but because a loving family was waiting to give him the home I couldn’t. It was the hardest and greatest act of love I’ve ever had to offer.
This was never a goodbye, Bebe. It was a “see you later.” Now go be glorious, my boy. Let’s both go be glorious.
Our walks. Always.
