Taming the Shrews

 

Being Part of the Pack

“The university gave me a new, elegant

classroom to teach in. Only one thing,

they said. You can’t bring your dog.

It’s in my contract, I said. (I had

made sure of that.)

We bargained and I moved to an old

classroom in an old building. Propped

open the door. Kept a bowl of water

in the room. I could hear Ben among

other voices, barking, howling in the

distance. Then they would all arrive—

Ben, his pals, maybe an unknown dog

or two, all of them thirsty and happy.

They drank, they flung themselves down

among the students. The students loved

it. They all wrote thirsty, happy poems.” 

Mary Oliver (“The Poetry Teacher,” from Dog Songs, 2013)

 

I happened to be in Thank You Books a week ago and saw Mary Oliver’s book Devotions, copyright 2017, Penguin Books. I grabbed it up without even a moment’s perusal. It is a volume of her selected poems, and I had never read this one before—about writing it into her contract that her dog Ben be allowed to come to class with her. Once again, she proved her great heart for every living thing, and her deep understanding of human nature. I could so picture this classroom, door standing open, kids writing away, the floor covered with sleeping dogs. Now I love her even more!

I am writing this as my dog Liza, and I watch and listen to yet another storm passing through. This week, eight tornadoes touched down in Alabama, leaving many people homeless and others anxious. Liza has never been afraid of storms, yet, she has now moved from her bed across the room to underneath my desk, against my feet. Our pets know when fear is appropriate.

A friend of mine, who lost his mate of thirty years just over a year ago, kept her cat. He told me this week that he spends at least three hours a day with the cat curled in his lap. They comfort each other. Our pets know that when we are left alone by death or departure, we still need touch. And so do they.

Humans have lived with animals almost as long as they have stood upright. We believe we have domesticated them, but the truth is they have gentled us. Like wild horses, we have the capacity to run rampant, and our pets keep us grounded and tamed. I don’t think we would have become as civilized as we are (which is unfortunately a low bar) without the benefit of our pets. Like the dogs in Mary Oliver’s poem, we have learned to run free, but then find shelter, a waiting bowl of water, and rest in the security and comfort of the pack. We should all write happy, thirsty poems of gratitude.

                                        In the Spirit,

                                        Jane