The Dog That Could Not Walk

by Trudy Wells-Meyer
Scottsdale, Arizona, USA

He had no feet, no legs,
bouncing up steep steps as if he did.
The leash was brown, a string only, I found
in hardened mud next to flowers with no name.

I had a dog in picture-perfect Switzerland,
where I once lived, loved and had been young.
Its majestic snow-covered Alps, hidden behind dark clouds,
it smelled like rain, again . . . no sunshine today.

A dog’s playful steps on a lonely country road,
no sounds of barking, my childish joy making me leap and run.
Blowing in the wind thoughts of my seldom smiling mom,
dog hair on her rug and spotless house, unthinkable . . .

Not hearing the sounds of Switzerland,
distant cowbells, church bells ringing,
only the shrill voice of my oh so stem, hard working mom,
“No dog hair on my new hard earned couch!”

No dog allowed. I dared to dream . . . I made do. I was six. I was poor,
a child’s trouble-avoiding eyes could see the extraordinary was possible.
Radiating amazement at perfect not looking like I imagined,
I had a dog, chasing after me on a simple string.

I had a dog that was a ball . . . no chance to fall
my brother’s missing Soccer ball.

My joyous secret – Noah was his name.
Our walks a distant memory.

“I am an extremely successful retired hairstylist. Swiss born; I arrived in New York alone, life’s unpredictable effect-events at its finest, speaking and understanding very little English. I was 23.

Why I write:
Amazing communication through the written words as I stare at my name in print knowing one does not choose the time to write…it chooses you.

Writing is essential to my existence in a life filled with emotions where my passionate mind believes in the power of words…how I cherish the gift of writing, the endless possibilities of stringing words together.”
— Trudy Wells-Meyer