On the bad days I can feel it in my eyes.
How odd is that?
Black dog sniffing at the door, whining and pawing at it, growling under his breath.
He knows how to get in. That bastard. That bloodymouthed bastard.
When I took my walk this morning, I saw the sweetest, prettiest fox. They are almost magical creatures, a cross between a dog and a cat. As soon as I saw him, he melted away into the woods and I had nothing but the picture my eyes had taken of him to reassure me that I'd actually seen him.
My odd-feeling eyes. They still work.