Early Saturday morning I’m sipping coffee and working on the laundry. The house is quiet and I’m humming a Phil Collins song to myself. One of the dogs is lying at my feet, his ear twitching occasionally to reassure me that he is still alive. My feet are moving of their own volition.
“No, I can’t dance, I can’t talk, only thaaang about me is the waaay I walk…” Toe, heel, toe, heel, swing, tap, swing go my feet.