I've been channeling my inner Oscar lately. Oscar the Grouch, that is. Though, I've always loved Oscar Madison. Both are a bit messy, which might be why I can identify with them.
I'm on my third and hopefully final day of my latest migraine. I've been suffering as if I had a cloud hovering over and through my head while having to bear the weight of the world on my tired shoulders. I've been grumpy and glum and if anyone would let me hide away with a lid on my tiny enclosed space, I would have. There is a lot of sleeping involved and without the proper kind or amount of medicine to take away the pain, I've wondered yet again, why I haven't gotten some sort of prescription for this monstrous burden.
Not that it would help. Or so my fellow migraine sufferers complain, too.
After another nap this morning, I felt the fog had lifted and I was feeling much better, though still in pain, strangely enough. And I just remembered the post that I wanted to write. I'll make it another entry, though, and instead, I'll tell you about my tap-dancing dog.
I was walking my dog the other morning when I noticed him moving his front paw funny when he walked. It was almost like a limp, but it also reminded me of those horses that can count. As I watched this strange behavior, I heard a tap-tap every time he put his foot down on the pavement. In his own way - or in the way in which we anthropomorphize our pets, he was smiling at me like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. (A movie I finally saw after all these years of pop culture references.)
I reached down to my dogs foot to find that he had a half walnut shell stuck to one of his pads. Clever dog found a way to make tap shoes. Or shoe. When I removed the shell, the smile seemed to disappear. Then again, there was grass to be eaten.