Grief at the Death of a Dog

Sigmund Freud commented that the loss of a dog was similar in nature though not in intensity to the death of a child. No wonder, then, that bereavement is increasingly regarded as a legitimate reaction, which friends may acknowledge with cards or flowers. Counselling services and support groups are available in some cities for people who find it difficult to cope with the loss of a pet.

One of the cruel facts of life for a dog lover is that dogs do not live as long as we do. If you want to go through life with a dog as a close companion, you will inevitably face the loss or death of your dog. Not only that, if you don’t want to live without a dog, you will have to take on that risk again.

The death of a dog is a real loss. What you feel is real grief. One of the hardest aspects of it is that the depth of human emotions are not always acknowledged. Some friends may not understand or acknowledge your feelings - “after all it’s just a dog, get another one”, they say. Sorrow at the loss of a dog can be made more difficult to handle if you feel embarrassed to admit how you feel.  Some people feel ashamed that their feelings are as strong as they are, or as persistent.

A dog may be just a dog - they all come pre-packaged with four legs and other typical, predictable doggy characteristics. Yes, they are all unique individuals, just as we are, but what gives them their special uniqueness is not their individuality but our readiness to bond with them and measure our lives by them.

My dog River is a silent witness to a decade of my life. She came into my life at a turning point, the most specific event I can remember which marked the time when a downward emotional spiral started the upward journey.  She has been a constant  reference point against which changes in jobs, family, personal relationships and emotional life can be measured. River came into my life after the death of a close friend. After the pain has passed there is a little marker left on the landscape, a gentle regret that my friend Huw never met River, and didn’t live long enough to move into our new house. She won her first obedience trophy just after my father was admitted to hospital, the only glimmer of distraction at that time. She sat in the back of my broken down car in the hospital car park in the middle of the night while my mother and I waited for the RACV.  In the morning, a gentle nose touching a human hand was acknowledgement and sympathy enough.

We don’t just mourn the death of a dog. We are reminded of all the losses we have felt over the lifetime of that dog. When we are ready to get another dog, we do more than replace one consumer item with another. We affirm that it is important to move on. A life insulated from the risk of being hurt or experiencing another loss is no life.

River is now ten years old. Time enough left for more touching moments, some shared joys, some quiet reflection. Ever since she was about two years old, I have been dreading the day when I would lose her. Strangely enough, now that she is measuring out more good times than bad, I feel more able to accept the possibility of losing her. 

I had been thinking about grief at the death of a dog when Tom and Rhonda, members of one of my dog training classes, had their dog put down.  Young and unexpected deaths bring their own special sadness.  No-one knows this better than Leanne, another member of the class, who lost a child through cot death, and had to bring herself to accept a new baby. The loss of a dog touches all of us, not because of the dog, or even because of the sympathy we feel for its owner, but because of how it reverberates in our own lives. Thank you Leanne for allowing your loss and your new committment to be mentioned in the same breath as Tom and Rhonda’s. Thank you also to another class member, John, ever observant, for saying to me “you’ve been doing a lot of grief counselling”. That was an affirmation that all our feelings are valid. For me, dog training is not just about the dogs, much as I have always loved them. It is about meeting people and being privileged to share in their lives and the way dogs can help us to be better human beings.

We went to check out a dog Tom and Rhonda were thinking of buying, to make sure it was sound. It was a joy to see Tom and "Wonder" dancing around the garden together. After a week, Tom said he was “ecstatic” at his new dog’s progress. It’s great to know someone capable of ecstasy. Thank you Tom. Wondrous indeed.

Post script.

A couple of years after I wrote this, River did die. We’d had a games training night, and she was in fine form, performing her favorite tricks, like “pick the pocket”. Late that night she was in some discomfort and her abdomen was distended. I took her to the all night veterinary hospital. She was diagnosed as having a tumour in her spleen, of the type that draws in a lot of blood. A blood vessel had burst and she was bleeding into her abdominal cavity. She was becoming weaker from loss of blood. Untreated, she would not live long. The treatment was surgery which the vet described as “heroic” and from which few dogs recover. I chose to have her peacefully euthanised, while she was still conscious and not in distress. The vet gave me time to lie down on the floor with her to say goodbye, and I cradled her head as she was given the injection.

Although I was deeply sad, and I still miss her, I was not distraught in the way I had always thought I would be.  I felt calm and at peace with my decision. River enjoyed a quality of life until the end. I am very fortunate to have a video of her last evening, playing around in fine form. She went quickly and with only a little discomfort. I am convinced that the manner of her death was enormously important in making her loss as positive an experience as it could be. I only wish the same right could be given to all of us.

The next morning, I asked fellow-trainer Ann to take my classes for me. She arrived with a young male German Shepherd that she had found running around on the road (a busy thoroughfare called Elgar Road) and picked up for his own protection. “Sorry to do this to you today of all days,” she said, “but could you look after him while I take the class?”

I did. “I’m not ready for another dog yet”, I said, “and even if I was, it wouldn’t be him.” So began my life with Elgar. But that’s another story.

© Kaye Hargreaves 2008, may be reproduced with acknowledgement; www.kayehargeaves.com