The Death of a Pet

I looked up from my computer screen to see his eyes. Eyes that were probably once bright blue, now dull grey, bloodshot and as glassy as the sea. His face was hard, like the face of a man who had spent his days working on a construction site. He stiffened his lip and in a voice that was barely audible, he asked,

“How much do I owe you, love?”

I replied with the amount and he dipped his head, and reached for his tattered black leather wallet.

After I’d processed his bill, I touched his hand and I said, “I’m so sorry about, Billy.”

Lip trembling, he nodded, and walked out the door.

From my seat at the reception desk, I sucked in a breath, wiped a tear from my eye and continued on with my next patient; because, well, what else could I do for a fifty-something year old man who had just lost his dog?

If you’ve ever lost a much loved pet, you will know that the depth of grief can be as real as the air you breathe. Unfortunately, though when it comes to our pets, we live by a set of socially appropriate guidelines – no funeral service, no grief rituals, no local newspaper announcements, nothing. We may get a day off work and a couple of social media comments-if we’re brave enough to share our pet grief-but within a couple of days, we’re expected to resume life as usual.

One of the most heartbreaking euthanasias I have ever witnessed in my time in the veterinary industry was a few years ago. It was a 15 year old cat in renal failure. The family of the cat insisted on having their 6 year old Maremma Sheepdog present for the procedure. As the cat, Petal her name was, slipped peacefully to the other side, Max, the dog started violently vomiting and frantically howling. He continued to howl all the way home; and during the weeks that followed, Max stopped eating and he refused come out from under the bed. 

Max had a broken heart and this was his time to grieve. 

Unlike Max, it’s somewhat taboo that a human would show such a display of grief for another species. To morn publicly without reservation and to take the time to self-sooth and to rest. To vulnerably face the realisation of the absence of a heart connection once felt. 

So how do we cope with the loss of a pet? The absence of the overexcited tail wagging, the soothing purr, or the morning melody that sings at you from the cage in the corner, and the grief that sometimes others don’t understand?

We must first and foremost allow ourselves to feel what we are  feeling. At the loss of a pet, a piece of our heart is ripped out. It’s ok to be hurting. The unconditional love that was once received on a daily basis is gone. It’s ok to be sad. After the death of my dog, Armani, I burst into tears at the start of a Body Attack class. Two days later it was at my favourite cafe. Tears are not set to a schedule. We must embrace them. 

If we are sad, let us be sad. If we are happy, let us happy. But most of all, let us be kind to ourselves. 

Grief for a pet is not a sign of weakness. It signifies the beauty of a heart that is capable of a love that not all human being are capable of – the animal human connection. The deep relationship that has been created with an animal. I remember a young couple who lost their puppy, he was only four months old. The couple decided that they wanted to get matching tattoos of his name, ‘Benji’. And then another family who were grieving the loss of their rabbit; they decided to bury her at home and have a family ceremony so that their small children could say, goodbye. I wore my dog’s ashes around my neck for a good twelve months to aid in my healing. Some people pray. Some people meditate. Some people have a celebration of life. Some people get drunk. Some people get another pet right away, and some people don’t. 

Because when it comes to grief, there are no rules. There is no walking away. It’s a roller coaster that we must ride. 

It is the price we pay for the unconditional love of a pet. 

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