A Boston Bulldog pulls right, then left against a taught leash in lower Manhattan. He searches for non-existent grass or bare earth on which to find relief. Soon, he drops his excrement on the sidewalk. A man at the other end of the leash bends to clean the walk while the dog scratches unyielding concrete in a futile attempt to cover his spoil. The man yanks the leash. “That’s enough of that, Bingo. We have to move on.”
There's Nothing Wrong With You
Scene One – School ball diamond – April 27, 1957
“Dickey, are you crying?”
“You sure look sad sitting alone on a sunny day. Something wrong?”
My chin bumps my chest. “No, nothing’s wrong.”
About the Author
I write personal essays, creative non-fiction, flash fiction, and self-development articles from my home in Madison, Wisconsin.