"Father, I'm ready!" my daughter chirps, her voice loud yet soft at the same time, but still soft enough that it hasn't startled Dinky awake, as she gracefully hovers down the stairs. Even the flapping of her wings barely emits any sound.
Lying supine on the sofa, I tilt my head upwards and flash Fluttershy an upside-down smile.
"Awesome," I say.
I'm not going to bother taking the shower, not after what transpired upstairs, if the second reminder is necessitous. While there's a slight hint of odor coming out of my armpits, thankfully the reek of animals here overrides it (which I don't know why I'm being thankful or finding this a plus), so I don't think anybody can pick up on it lest they're within hugging proximity.
I've yet to be ready, as it is conspicuous by the lack of pants.
I adroitly slide my hands underneath Dinky and lift her by her armpits as I steadily rise, so far successful in keeping her asleep. I, diligent in my motions, lay her back down on the comfy sofa. Dinky now recumbent on the couch, her little furry belly is exposed. Ripe for the petting. My left hand involuntarily reaches out for the filly's stomach like it has a mind of its own, but, with the swift aid of Master Willpower, I thwart its intentions by grabbing it with my right hand.
That taken care of, I swipe the blue jeans from the sofa's armrest and slip them on, button, and zip up the zipper carefully.
"There, all set and ready," I say, patting my jeans.
I perform a thorough self-inspection to make certain I'm prepared. As if it couldn't be any more of a convenience, there is a ha- hoof held mirror on the coffee table from across the sofa. I procure the mirror and hold it up in front of me, checking for anything out of place. Everything seems to be in order, save for the unsightly bedhead (another thing to add to the roster of 'Discord's an Asshole').
While it's unhygienic and somewhat frowned upon, I lick my palm to apply a thin coat of saliva and stroke down the loose strands. I bring the mirror back up and examine my hair once more. Hmm. Well, there's only so much that saliva can do in lieu of hair gel.
I don't think she caught my unhygienic act earlier. Although given that she's probably seen plenty of animals licking themselves, I'm confident she would hardly care.
Fluttershy daintily alights on the wooden floor and tucks her wings away and reciprocates with a fond smile. She then starts trotting over to the saddlebag suspended on a coat rack next to the front door. Seeing this, I walk on over to retrieve it for her.
"Here, I'll help," I offer. My daughter beams brightly and nods.
I have earlier learned that this saddlebag is not authentic leather. I believe they've called it synthetic leather? Artificial? Well, whatever it may be, I definitely would have found it questionable if it was authentic.
I hoist it off the coat rack and gingerly sling it over the center of my daughter's spine. Kneeling, I grab hold of the buckle strap and the other strap with holes underneath her barrel, being wary of her personal space. She really doesn't mind my help on occasions such as this. But, as her father, I tend to be mindful of her boundaries nonetheless.
I somewhat struggle — for this is my third time attempting this, even though it's nothing short compared to buckling a normal belt strap — upon lacing the plain strap through the metallic loop of the buckle.
I abstain from blurting out an expletive when I ineptly lost my grip on the buckle strap. Yes, I know, I'm an imbecile. A lone droplet of sweat falls off from between my furrowed brows. I grab the buckle again and successfully got the other end through its hoop seconds after.
So once I've gotten past that hurdle, I push the buckle's tongue through the middle hole of the three. I grin complacently when the strap is girdled snugly around Fluttershy's barrel.
Using both shoulder sleeves to wipe away the sweat off my brows, I slowly stand back up on my two feet with a short grunt. My daughter then beams a fond and grateful smile before nuzzling my hand.
I then place my hand on her crest and snake my fingers slowly through her pink mane. Fluttershy promptly hums a low purr as she presses her face against my palm. I give her scalp a gentle scratch before retracting my hand.
"Thank you very much, Father," Fluttershy says.
"You're very much welcome," I kindly reply.
That said and done, I quietly walk over to the sofa and hoist the sleeping Dinky up into my cradling arms. I turn back around and make my way to my daughter as she quietly opens the cottage door. My face scrunches as momentary blindness hits me; I quickly shield Dinky's eyes when the sun cascades its brilliant rays on us so she wouldn't wake up. I must say I'm astonished how ridiculously bright it is this early in the morning.
Fluttershy closes the door behind us with her hind leg. The hinges from the door make an ear-piercing squeak for a split second. This, of course, causes Dinky to stir in my arms. The filly arches her back as she exhales a dull yawn. She lazily rubs her face with a foreleg before she slowly opens her eyes.
Dinky blinks a couple of times, probably to purge the blurriness away. She then flicks her gaze up at me with a puzzled look on her visage.
She tiredly yawns before asking, "Hey, Daddy, where's Mommy?"
"Oh, she's at work," I answer softly. "But don't fret, because today I will be your foalsitter," I add.
Dinky's eyes flit wide open, pupils dilated, as a smile stretches on her tiny lips, brimming with childish excitement.
"Really?! Yay! I get to hang out with Daddy!"
Both my dear Shy and I smile sequentially. Today just keeps getting better and better.