As the author Willie Morris once wrote of his dog Skip, “they had buried him under our elm tree, they said — yet this wasn’t totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.”
Our beloved dogs and cats stay with us in our hearts long after they have died and passed on to whatever awaits, but they don’t exactly stay quiet do they?
Come across an old photograph and those dogs, though long gone, stir and lift their heads, grin and remind us, “Hey, we loved that rotten old ball!”
For a long time, I found myself automatically shutting the lid on the washing machine even when I wasn’t going to start it for a while, because Oscar would wait to get in there to sleep on the dirty clothes.
Reaching for the lid, Oscar would come alive again in my memory and my heart would jump a little as he reminded me that I don’t have to worry about the lid anymore.
We started our pet resort because we loved dogs and cats. What we failed to understand was how very soon so many individuals dogs and cats would become like our own. Many dogs and cats stayed with us several times a year; often for weeks or even months at a time. Some of our boarders stayed with us on and off for over a decade; from the time they were puppies and kittens until they died. So how could we not thoroughly fall in love with them?
But because we hadn’t really considered the depth of the attachments we would form, we were completely unprepared for the pain we experienced when those dogs and cats died. At one point, about eight years or so after we opened, I was almost afraid to look at our emails. Every day seemed to bring some new report of the loss of an old friend.
In a previous post, I discussed how you decide when it is time to euthanize your pet. In this one, I’m looking at what happens after the loss of a pet.
Let’s start by examining whether it is “normal” to feel grief at all at the death of a pet, other than perhaps, a passing sadness.
Some people worry that there is something wrong with them because of how badly they feel when they lose their pet. Others are ashamed of their feelings, and keep them hidden. It’s a dog or cat after all, not a person.
It is vital to remember that mourning your pet doesn’t somehow elevate him or her above your human relationships. Loving your animal companion takes nothing away from your human relationships.
Although there are those who will be scandalized and think I am some kind of monster for saying this, I am convinced that grief when a pet dies can be every bit as profound and devastating as when a family member dies.
Sometimes one dog or cat out of many owned over a lifetime holds a particularly special place in a person’s heart. That loss hits particularly hard.
Condemn me if you will, but here’s the truth. When my beloved Toby and my father died within two months of each other, my grief for Toby was far deeper and far more pure than my grief for my father.
My relationship with Toby was uncomplicated. He was full of fun; an innocent who brought great joy to my life. He comforted me in bad times.
He made me laugh even when I was sad. If he did something to make me angry, it was easy to forgive him. He was incapable of acting maliciously or deliberately trying to make life difficult. For my part, I put very few expectations on him.
My relationship with my father was far more complex. I loved him very much, but mine was a dysfunctional family and at some level, I blamed him for not fixing that. He was emotionally withdrawn. As an adult I realized he had suffered from depression his whole life. Yet that fact couldn’t fully exonerate him in the eyes of the disappointed, angry eight year old girl who lives eternally somewhere in my psyche.
The day I took Toby to be euthanised, I kept myself together for his sake. He loved going to the vet, and I did my best to smile and laugh and make him think this was just another fun visit to Dr. Dave. He went peacefully to sleep and I managed to make it back to the car before I started choking with sobs. When I got home, I flung myself on the sofa and howled with grief. I could barely breathe.
When my father died after cancer surgery, I cried. I mourned him. I felt sad. But he had suffered from Parkinson’s Disease and a bad heart for many years. The cancer was just the last straw. I knew, because he told me, that he was ready to go. His life had become a burden to him. After decades of a complicated relationship, my grief was all mixed up with disappointment, regret and frustration.
Researchers have concluded that my reaction was not all that unusual. As one article said, our relationships with our pets are unconditional. That factor “…is usually absent from those [relationships] with other human beings….”
Few, if any, human relationships are simple. Each party to the relationship has his or her own emotional baggage. We suffer from anxiety and fear of rejection. We project our own feelings onto others. We suspect ulterior purposes and worry about motivations.
Dogs and cats don’t have an agenda, except to give and receive love. And treats.
Treats are a very important part of any relationship with an animal.
Our bond with our pets is probably even more important in the modern age of marriage breakdowns and family re-groupings. A child whose parents are divorcing may find comfort and stability from the loving companionship of their dog, cat or hamster, who may have been a part of their life for as long as their parents have been.
That’s our eldest son with our very first cat. Esmeralda died when Chris was a teenager.They grew up together and the loss was hard.
People who live alone and/or people without close friends or family are often deeply bonded to their pets, who may provide their major, or even only source of companionship, love and comfort.
The loss of one’s best friend is hard indeed. If it is also the loss of one’s only friend, it may feel almost unbearable.
On a more mundane level, when your pet dies, your daily routine is interrupted, often very drastically.
Pet owners joke about how their lives revolve around their pets. But there is much truth in that. Our feet automatically go around the dog or cat food dishes on the kitchen floor. You grill a steak and look around for a dog to hand the leftovers to. We reach for the dogs’ leads as soon as we tie up our running shoes or hiking boots.
We take care of our pets the way we take care of our kids; feed them nutritious food they like, seek medical care, both preventative and curative, try our best to provide them with training about how to be a pleasant housemate, and expend time, effort and money in engaging with them in stimulating and enjoyable activities.
When they die, we see constant reminders everywhere, even if it’s just the cat hair in their favourite sleeping spot.
I saw my Toby for hours every day and took care of his every need. His death created a huge disruption in my daily life, quite apart from the grief I felt. On the other hand, I had lived independently from father for 37 years when he died. I saw him a few times a year and talked with him a few times a month at most. Having been mostly absent from my daily life, his death did not affect that daily routine.
Studies have shown that such major disruptions in our regular life (like losing a job or divorce for example) are big stressers. This adds a feeling of dislocation to grief.
If your pet dies young, or if your middle aged pet has been healthy but dies suddenly, shock is an added burden. On the other hand, older animals are tied up with years of memories. When her elderly Fox Terrier died, one of our clients said that one of the hardest things to come to grips with, was that she had owned the dog for a third of her life.
“Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives.”
There is too often an element of guilt tied up with our grief as well. The guilt is not warranted, but then don’t we always stand accused in our own minds for even minor things? How much more likely are we then to blame ourselves at some level when beloved pet dies, especially if we made the decision for euthanasia. That decision runs counter to every instinct, thought and feeling we have.
“Could I have waited longer? Was there something else I could have tried? Was he really getting worse? If only I had taken her to the vet sooner.” If, if, if.
These feelings are severely compounded if a pet dies an accidental death. “Why didn’t I make sure the door was closed?” “Why didn’t I grab her before she could jump out in traffic?”
Forgiving yourself for human error that results in your pet’s death may feel impossible. If this is your situation, you must find a way to deal with it before you can even begin to grieve properly. Therapy may be necessary.
Thinking about all these factors, is it any surprise then that our grief for the death of a pet is so very deep?
Hardest of all is that we must get through it without our pet to comfort us.
How then do you cope with your grief on the death of a pet?
The simple answer is, do what you need to do. Let yourself feel it. Don’t try to tamp it down because it’s ‘only an animal after all’. Let it out. Cry. Scream. Get angry. Yell. Curse. Whatever makes you feel even a little bit better.
Consider asking your vet to clip some of your pet’s hair and return it to you with their collar or other possessions. It can serve as a tangible link to your pet.
Custom used to allow a period of a year to mourn the loss of a loved one.
But it will take as long as it takes. Reject thoughts like: “I should be over this by now. What’s wrong with me?”
I don’t think you ever do really ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one, human or animal. It does get easier with time to think about them without breaking down. Memories will elicit more smiles than tears. But there is a hole in your heart that is never completely going to be filled.
At some level, you may worry that trying to feel better is somehow a betrayal of your beloved pet. But you‘re not trying to forget. You’re trying to get your emotions to a place where you can remember your pet with more happiness than pain.
Talk to someone who understands; a friend, spouse, vet. There are pet loss support groups in many towns and cities now, and certainly online.
Don’t feel you have to be in a hurry to dispose of your pet’s possessions. You can do it gradually if that helps. Move them to a different spot, or pack them up in a box. Or, if it’s too painful, ask someone else to do it. Some people are more the ‘ripping the bandage off all at once” type. Looking at your pet’s collar and lead or empty food bowl may only make things more painful.
Don’t do anything irrevocable however. Someday that collar may be a source of great comfort.
I still have Toby’s medals and ribbons.
Pause before you either adopt another pet right away or vow never to have another. Give it time.
When a human dies, society dictates certain forms, rituals and ceremonies be held to put a dignified period to that person’s life. Friends and family gather together, share happy memories as well as grief. Any number of people may speak, giving insights into the personality of the deceased. The remains of the departed are interred or otherwise placed in a significant spot.
After the death of a pet, nothing happens. You return home, you get up and go about your business the next day. And the next. And the next.
Writing to a friend about the death of his dog, John Galsworthy said, “No stone stands over where she lies. It is on our hearts that her life is engraved.”
I’m very fond of that quotation and have shared it with many friends who have suffered the death of a pet.
Some pets do have stones to mark where they lie.
Pet cemeteries are not common but there are some.
Even if there is no pet cemetery near where you live, there is still no reason why you can’t make your own rituals to mark your pet’s passing.
Invite friends over to have little memorial gathering. Share photos or videos. If you are going to dispose of your pet’s ashes in a favourite spot, ask them to come with you. Or plant a tree and sprinkle your pet’s ashes under its roots.
Ask your friends to bring their memories, but consider also asking them to bring a donation to a good pet charity. At the pet resort, John and I made a small monetary donation to Pet Trust at the Veterinary College at the University of Guelph whenever one of our clients let us know about the death of a pet. The University would notify the pet’s owner about the donation, and the fact that it was going to fund research into companion animal diseases.
Many, many of our clients became very emotional when they learned of this. Some still mention it to us even now, years later. It made a huge difference to them to know that someone had marked the passing of their dog or cat, especially in a way that would help other animals.
If you like this idea, do it for your friends who lose animal companions. Even a sympathy card will make a huge difference. They have them now specifically for pets through Amazon by Tree Free Greetings.
Writing always helps me with my emotions. Think about writing a letter to your pet, just to put your feelings into words, or to put in their grave or with their ashes.
Donald McCaig in his book A Useful Dog gives a heartbreakingly beautiful description of his wife’s ritual in this regard:
“We carried [their dog Moose] to his grave on his sheepskin bed and set his letter underneath. My wife, Anne, writes a letter for every one of our dogs and I have never asked her what she writes. She says it’s a passport and I like to think of Moose coming to the last river he will ever cross and offering the boatman his letter. “Oh, yes, I was a very good dog.”
But it may be, it just may be – all our dogs waiting on the far side of the river that Anne and I must one day cross – those letters may not be the dogs’ passports. They may be ours.”
This has been a very difficult post to write. I’ve gone through a lot of tissues. But I’ve smiled a lot too. There are so many more good and happy memories than sad ones.
If we hope for immortality, then surely as someone said, “Heaven is the place where all the dogs you’ve ever loved, come to meet you.” Or, as Will Rogers put it, “If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they went.”
Of course this all applies equally to cats. And hamsters. Or hedgehogs.
“There’s a stone I had made for Luke at the top of the hill road, where the pasture opens wide and the setting sun highlights the words carved into its face. “That’ll do, Luke, that’ll do.” The words are said to working dogs all over the world when the chores are done and the flock is settled: “That’ll do dog, come home now, your work is done.” Luke’s work is done too. He took my heart and ran with it, and he’s running still, fast and strong, a piece of my heart bound up with his, forever.”
– For the Love of a Dog: Understanding Emotion in You and Your Best Friend by Patricia McConnell