I had to go away for a few days so I called But these babes have been crunched on Ben’s molars, have begun the descent through darkness and acids toward transformation. Then they hurry home again, to the peep and swirl of their nestlings. The mice construct thick, cupped nests deep in the grass from which they travel along a multitude of tunneled paths-to the creek perhaps, or into the orchard to find a bruised apple or a leaf of mint, or buckberries. (c)īy the time I reach him the last of the newborn field mice are disappearing down his throat. There are wild things that have been altered, but only into a semblance of tameness, it is no real change. The tiger is wild, and the coyote, and the owl. Some things are unchangeably wild, others are stolidly tame. Or maybe it’s about the wonderful things that may happen if you break the ropes that are holding you.
Meanwhile, I plan to translate the book into Doglish for the rest of my pooch pals who, like me and Miss Mary's beloved pooch Percy, now reside in the sky.
I suggest you get your paws on Dog Songs to enjoy alone or while nuzzling with your favorite furry one(s) by your side. Naturally, my schnoz began to twitch when she wrote about her small dog's hunt for dead fish and all things supremely stinky. I wasn't a fan at all of hoses, puddles, or raindrops. Water to me used to be only for drinking and, thankfully, never tasted like salt or anything else. Doggie fans will feel the human-dog love and mutual admiration she describes throughout her latest book.Īfter reading Miss Mary's tales of her dogs romping in the sand and surf unleashed, I may have to rethink my reluctance to dip any part of my fur into any beach or river in the future. It's obvious to me that Puplitzer (or whatever the prize name is) poet and devoted dog mom Mary Oliver has deciphered the canine communications code. I spent some of Sunday peering over Mistress Carmen's shoulder as she read Dog Songs.
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