It was January but once

Mary Oliver's love letter to one dog can well be read as a love letter to all dogs. It seems to whisper that we should give our attention to all animals, really, and with attention comes love. It makes me think of Athena, maybe not because Percy reminds me of her (although he does a little, is that too outrageous to suggest?), but because the love and devotion that comes from it feels pretty much the same. January 2023 pops out of the map of time like a peak, fixed, unalterable, impossible to repeat. Sometimes it looks very bleak, sometimes bright and warm. We keep moving further and further away from it, but there it stands, like a stain, never to be forgotten (a pain I can no longer feel but can't get rid of, either): this was our last month with Athena. And here she died.

She, too, is a continual blessing.

“For I Will Consider My Dog Percy”
Mary Oliver

For I will consider my dog Percy.
For he was made small but brave of heart.
For if he met another dog he would kiss her in kindness.
For when he slept he snored only a little.
For he could be silly and noble in the same moment.
For when he spoke he remembered the trumpet and when
he scratched he struck the floor like a drum.
For he ate only the finest food and drank only the
purest of water, yet would nibble of the dead fish also.
For he came to me impaired and therefore certain of
short life, yet thoroughly rejoiced in each day.
For he took his medicines without argument.
For he played easily with the neighborhood’s bull
mastiff.
For when he came upon mud he splashed through it.
For he was an instrument for the children to learn
benevolence upon.
For he listened to poems as well as love-talk.
For when he sniffed it was as if he were being
pleased by every part of the world.
For when he sickened he rallied as many times as
he could.
For he was a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For we humans can seek self-destruction in ways
he never dreamed of.
For he took actions both cunning and reckless, yet
refused always to offer himself to be admonished.
For his sadness though without words was
understandable.
For there was nothing sweeter than his peace
when at rest.
For there was nothing brisker than his life when
in motion.
For he was of the tribe of Wolf.
For when I went away he would watch for me at
the window.
For he loved me.
For he suffered before I found him, and never
forgot it.
For he loved Anne.
For when he lay down to enter sleep he did not argue
about whether or not God made him.
For he could fling himself upside down and laugh
a true laugh.
For he loved his friend Ricky.
For he would dig holes in the sand and then let
Ricky lie in them.
For I often see his shape in the clouds and this is a
continual blessing."