In the catalog of civic blessings—good schools, safe streets, sturdy institutions—there is another, less heralded, but no less important: dogs. They civilize us by their presence, instruct us by their example, and forgive us in ways no political institution ever could.
Last weekend, Roger Sherman Baldwin Park became a pageant ground for this truth. Puttin’ on the Dog, the annual festival of adoption and rescue, drew hundreds of Greenwich residents and their four-legged companions into a kind of civic liturgy. It was not merely an afternoon of entertainment but an affirmation that this town remains tethered to something enduring: the joy of companionship and the duty of stewardship.
That duty is observed in sacred spaces as well.
Every autumn, churches across Greenwich open their lawns and sanctuaries for the Blessing of the Animals, an ecumenical chorus of gratitude for creation’s most faithful companions. From the parish greens of Old Greenwich to downtown chapels, clergy lift their hands over dogs, cats, parrots, and the occasional guinea pig. On September 28, Round Hill Community Church will continue this tradition with its own blessing service at 10:00 a.m. , where creatures furry, feathered, or even scaly will be welcomed as fellow travelers in God’s world.
St. Francis of Assisi, who preached to birds and called all living things his brothers and sisters, would recognize in these Greenwich rituals a glimpse of his creed: that creation itself is charged with divine benevolence. To bless an animal is not sentimental excess but moral clarity. Dogs—joyous, un-judging, vigilant—are reminders that loyalty is not a transaction but a vocation.
And because affection must find practical expression, Christ Church Greenwich is holding a Pet Food & Toys Drive from September 21 through October 5, with donations supporting Neighbor to Neighbor. The slogan—“Let’s fill some bowls, wag some tails, and make our community a little more pawsitive”—is whimsical, but the work is serious: ensuring that pets in struggling households do not go without.
These three strands—festivals, blessings, and practical charity—form a Greenwich catechism of care. They testify that pets are not accessories but family members: comforters in hardship, companions in solitude, catalysts of joy. In a time when civic life frays under the strain of rancor, dogs remind us that loyalty is not contingent, that joy requires no justification, and that affection is its own argument.
The French writer Anatole France observed, “Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.” That unawakened part, once stirred, changes how we live with one another. A dog nosing a child’s hand at a festival, a cat carried into a sanctuary for blessing, a parish drive ensuring food for a neighbor’s pet— all are variations on the same theme: community sustained not by policy alone but by love.
Edmund Burke once praised “the unbought grace of life.” Dogs, in their tireless devotion, are precisely that. They are the unearned graces that remind Greenwich what it means to be a town, not merely a collection of houses. To celebrate them, to bless them, and to provide for them is, in fact, to bless ourselves.
