It’s like depression in one way. People don’t understand grief for a lost pet unless they’ve been there. We’re there now, once again.
A couple of years ago, I updated an early post about grieving the death of an Australian shepherd who had been with us for 14 years. She’d done her shepherdly duty in guarding the perimeter of her family flock that included three young adventurous sons. She’d been part of who we were, and we mourned her loss.
The grief I felt had been just that, not the causeless depression that feels like grief in one of its phases. It a real emotion, intense then spent and gone, and it was a signal that life was returning, that recovery was real.
Well, it’s happened again. We’ve lost a small friend named Bailey who’s been at my side every minute I’ve been home for years. About 14 months ago, we found out he had an enlarged heart and congestive heart failure. That means the heart wasn’t working well enough to keep fluid out of his lungs. The combination of swollen heart and diminished breath provoked a deep bronchial cough, the first signal he was in trouble.
His breathing became more and more labored, but he sprang back into action after bad spells and remained as perky as ever. He was a little, high speed dog of mixed terrier ancestry, and his inbred role was to generate excitement. Until a few months ago, life was at top speed.
He dashed for his food, scrambled over a bare floor to get out the door, raced back and forth to us with urgent messages. We had to run to see this, now, now, now. He alerted the house to obvious dangers with his sudden piercing bark.
He was an instigator dog who’d explode the adrenalin in us but primarily in his Aussie partner, Casey. He was the much bigger dog who could do the real defensive job.
Bailey’s work was done as soon as he’d roused his friend to action and sent him barking and charging out the door to face uncertain threats. Bailey would dash after him, take a few bold steps, then stop to watch the soldier advance to action. Usually that meant circling about barking, trying to find something or someone to go for.
Casey would stop after madly searching and look back. What am I doing out here? I’d fling out my arms with the same question. What? I don’t see anything. I’d look at Bailey who was sitting quietly. Ah, another drill to keep us on our toes.
A couple of days ago, Bailey dashed out of the house again on a similar mission, this time advancing far out into the yard. I heard a sudden yelp, saw Casey nosing his fallen friend and ran like hell to his side.
Bailey’s heart had finally given out, and he lay there, twitching in a few last spasms. He was clearly beyond help. His wide eyes saw nothing, a now blue tongue hung out one side of his mouth. A few final heart beats, and he was gone. Just like that – in one violent moment.
We were in shock, within the hour had buried him, then had to switch on a social face as our oldest son and his new girlfriend pulled up the driveway for a weekend visit. There was sympathy all around, but our feelings were diverted as we got to know a charming new friend.
They left, and grief set in. I cycled through a spinning misery of anger, depression, then painful yet warming memories, a release in a cry. Then sadness that still has a long way to go.
I’d worried this death had triggered a bad depression, but it hadn’t. All good grieving, getting the feelings out, feeling the feelings. It’s sad, it’s natural. Recovery tested again and wins – but at what a cost.
It’s quieter in the house now. Way too quiet.
I’m so sorry about the loss of your Bailey. He sounds like quite a little character. I’m glad this hasn’t triggered a depression for you, although moving through the stages of grief is never easy.
This is a timely post for me. My husband and I adopted our dog as a puppy shortly after we were married. Her birthday was actually our wedding day, and when we saw that on her kennel paperwork at the animal shelter, it was like a sign that she was meant for us and we for her.
Fast forward ten years; my husband and I have separated. The day after he moved out last month, our sweet dog (who stayed with me since his apartment doesn’t allow pets) began having seizures. Soon she lost the use of her back legs. The CT scans show brain and spinal column tumors. I am keeping her comfortable for now (she’s not in pain) until the point when she will need to be euthanized.
I am thankful for these last days with her, and that the kids and I have the opportunity to say our goodbyes without needing to rush to put an end to suffering… But the cruel coincidence of watching my dreams of happily-ever-after die along with our beloved pet is just too much sometimes.
Hi, N –
I/m sorry to hear about your dog and the terrible coincidence with separation. We’ve had a long final period like that with three of our pets. Two had to be euthanized, and those are the most painful moments. I was so afraid that Bailey would go through a long period of immobility and increasing difficulty breathing. At least his end was a sudden failure of his heart rather than the alternative. He lived a lot longer than expected, and we were grateful for every day.
Thank you for writing.
John
Hi John,
I just want to say,sorry for your loss.
Thinking of you and your family.
I remember how painful it was,when I lost my Dog Forgiven
So glad you had such a good time with Bailey during your time together. They are such wonderful creatures, these dogs that capture our hearts. I am so thankful I found my dog Cisco before my husband spiraled into depression because Cisco lets me love him, loves me and makes me laugh. It’s the simple things they do, isn’t it? Peace to you and your family.
Thank you, MK –
It is the simple things, the unfailing loyalty and companionship, so uncomplicated that helps you get through the worst times. I’m glad you found Cisco when you did. It is so hard to live with a partner who isn’t really there anymore. A small friend lets you feel freely and responds so readily that you get some part of the comfort you need.
John
Hi, Forgiven –
Thank you. That’s such a beautiful name you chose for your dog – to match a wonderful spirit, I’m sure.
John
John, I’m so sorry about your dog. There is hard to find such unconditional love as you get from a dog. We lost one of our Shar Pei last summer and I couldn’t believe how broken-hearted I felt because we had to have her euthanized. She’d become blind and then her kidneys failed and we could tell it was the end. You are so right about this kind of grief being different from depression because it’s so specific, so NOW, and there’s no question what the loss is about. Depression just seems to go on and on, even against all reason. In some ways, the grief of losing our dog felt like something I wasn’t even sure I wanted to get rid of, it felt like still having a part of her. But, it does get lighter.
Thanks Judy –
There is such a clash between knowing full well that a dog in such misery – ours was having more and more trouble breathing – can’t continue like that for long and your emotional need to hold onto them. At least Bailey’s sudden collapse, which we knew had to happen, made it unnecessary to euthanize him. That’s the worst – we’ve had to do that twice. Just a couple of weeks ago we had to put down a cat that was horribly diseased with skin cancer. So we’ve had two recent losses. You’re so right that real grief is this specific and now. It feels healthy, however hurtful, compared to depression.
John
I remember when my little miniature schnauzer died years ago. I’d gotten her when she was 6 weeks old and she grew to the ripe old age of 13. She had stayed with me after the divorce. I had to have her euthanized because of seizures and obvious distress (on both our parts.) I had just started a new job and had to go in to work crying, my world shaken. In a way, instead of deepening my depression, her death gave me something to focus my grief on. An acceptable reason to cry. An acceptable reason to feel sad. Depression had always seemed a waste of emotion.
Hi, Donna –
That’s exactly the lifespan of the Aussie I wrote about a few years ago. Our kids had grown up with her, and she always stood apart from other dogs we had at the time as the special, most responsive companion. It’s a long time in one sense, but so short compared to the crowded, so much longer lives we live.
You’re so right – depression is a waste of emotion. What a great thought – I could write on that theme for a long time. I’ve felt so much grief in depression – but what was it for?
Thanks for commenting –
John
Dear John,
It’s such a sad thing to loose a dog or cat- they have a way of worming their paws into your heart and it’s so horrible that we outlive them. I am really sorry.
This was a beautiful tribute to your best friend Bailey, and the photos of him are handsome.
I will be thinking of you and your family and hope your grief will subside. It never goes away, I know, but it turns to something different. Take care.
Thank you, Susan –
I know how important your pets have always been to you, and it is sad to outlive so many as you grow older. We’ve had these terrible shocks before and won’t ever forget the special place each dog and cat had in our lives.
All my best to you –
John