A dear friend lost her pup recently, so today, I’m sharing poet Mary Oliver’s heartfelt piece, For I Will Consider My Dog Percy from her poetry collection Dog Songs. DP, I know now is the time for crying, but I hope the tears eventually help soften your grief. I wish you days in the not-too-distant future that have more gentle, sweet reminders than painful feelings of loss.

American poet Mary Jane Oliver was a Pulitzer Prize and a National Book Award winner. She was known for her works inspired by nature. Her Ohio upbringing gave her a lifelong love of the pastoral, and it inspired the habit of solitary walks in the woods which she continued right up until her death in 2019 at the age of 83. She and her partner lived in Provincetown, Massachusetts for most of their 40-year relationship, and she said “that marvelous convergence of land and water” served as inspiration for much of her work.

“For I Will Consider My Dog Percy”

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 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.

You can learn more about Mary Oliver on her Poetry Foundation page.

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