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Preparing Your Heart and Mind for Loss

My own experience of caring for an elderly dog is that I find myself watching him more closely, and there is an underlying anxiety that was not there before. “Why hasn’t he finished his breakfast?” I hear myself saying to my husband, as our little dog has always had such a good appetite. Or “Is he limping? Does he need more joint supplements?” Any small issues are promptly checked by the vet.

On a recent follow-up visit after he had some skin lumps removed, I asked our lovely vet if she could keep him going for many more years. She smiled knowingly and said, “I know, you want him to live forever.” That is what it is like for many of us.

Of course, beneath the longing for much more happy and healthy time together is the knowing that there will be a decline and our cherished pet will die—either suddenly, as happened with our previous dog, or by being put to sleep, perhaps after a gradual deterioration in health and mobility. I want to be well prepared in myself so that when it is time to say goodbye I can ensure that the closing moments of his life are as peaceful as possible.

How do we prepare ourselves for such a loss? To start with, by thinking about it, knowing it, admitting it, and ultimately accepting that is what will happen at some point.

My husband and I talk about it openly. We prefix many discussions about points we need to think about with “When Rufus’s time comes . . . ”. We’re preparing our minds, knowing that our hearts will take a lot longer to catch up.

But on the positive side, I make more time for Rufus, I slow down so that I can notice and appreciate his little ways, which I will miss so much when he is no longer here. I let him choose the route on our walks, and if he really doesn’t want to go out in the rain, he doesn’t have to. It’s all part of the process of gratitude for his life—his wonderful character and independent spirit—and preparing for his time of transition. We each need to find our own way through this.

Before going into the many practicalities of preparing for pet loss, here is another person’s story illustrating her struggle to accept the inevitable loss of the family pet.

Our little family dog Ares, named after the Greek God of Mars, came to live with us when I was a teenager. I’m now 37 years of age and living in England, but it’s difficult to imagine life without Ares as she has been such a constant in our family in Italy where I come from. I see Ares like a sister, always there. We spent most of our time together when I was young, as she came everywhere with me, even riding on my Vespa! She’s always been a very affectionate and loving dog. She’s like a piece of my soul.

Now the little dog is 19 years old, blind and unsteady following an attack by a Rottweiler earlier in life. Three years ago Ares developed dementia. She continues to live at home with my parents, where she is never left alone; my parents don’t see caring for her as a duty, because to us she is family. We think Ares copes with her ailments because she knows the house perfectly and can find her way around. But while in 2016 she recognized and greeted me when I went home to Italy, the dementia has worsened, and last time I visited she didn’t recognize me. I think seeing the gradual decline helps me to get used to the fact that she is not immortal.

However, last August she was really ill, and the thought of losing her was just too much. Dealing with death is difficult for me at any time, and I still struggle with the death of my grandmother last year. Although I only see Ares about five times a year, when I visit my family in Italy, I feel desperate about the prospect of losing her.

I can see that Ares was a huge changing factor in our lives; we grew and changed as a family after she joined us. We’d had dogs in the past, but Ares’s arrival coincided with me needing to grow up. Through the difficult teenage years I sometimes got annoyed with her, and now this makes me feel guilty. I wish I’d been more tolerant.

My grandfather hadn’t wanted a dog to come in the house, but when little Ares turned up she was treated like a grandchild, and he became a different person. I can see how she helped us face our issues as a family, and we all became closer and more tolerant.

I feel more prepared for her dying now than I did a year ago, but it will still be very hard when her time comes, and very hard for my parents and grandfather as they all dote on her. Meanwhile, family life continues around caring for Ares, as we face her impending end. We all hope she will pass away in her sleep, but I want to be there at home should she need to be put to sleep—to say goodbye to Ares but also to support my father who dreads her having to be euthanized.

Now, we’ll move on to the practical aspects of preparing for your loss.